


A December to Forget

by venea_taur



Series: Windy City Musketeers [2]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anxiety, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashback, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Abortion, Mentions of Massacre, Original Character(s), Panic Attack, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, discussion of suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-10 06:16:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 46,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12905898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venea_taur/pseuds/venea_taur
Summary: This is another collection of stories based on prompts, though ones I've selected rather randomly. It's designed to fit a traditional advent Christmas calendar.Chapter 1: Treville is watching over an ill Aramis as he sleeps when the young man has the first of many nightmares after showing up on his doorstep. (modernAU)Chapter 2: In the wake of Aramis' latest suicide attempt, Athos is struggling with his own depression. (modernAU)I'll add to the tags as the stories are added.





	1. At a Loss

**Author's Note:**

> Some of these stories may tie back to the Whumptober stories. I'll make a note of it if they do. I'm working on the least irritating way to get all of those stories into a better form, something that does more to put them in the order they should be in. Ideas are welcome.
> 
> Also, this story links back to story 27: Surrender from Thirty-One Days Hath October. 
> 
> As for warnings: Mentions of massacre and abortion (nothing graphic), depression, PTSD, flashbacks, panic attacks (Aramis is a mess)

Sitting in the half-lit den, watching as an old friend and former soldier of his struggles to breathe and fights painful memories is not how Treville imagined his night would go. Still, as unexpected as Aramis’ arrival on his doorstep a few hours ago was, while Treville and Sarah were in the middle of playing a card game and watching Christmas movies with Ben and Tim, he can’t find it in him to be angry. Not with the young man at the least. His former friends who left him in his time of need, those are the ones Treville’s truly angry with. Furious with them for their ease in abandoning the code that binds soldiers together on and off the battlefield.

Sarah is off to bed, after having called Maria to let her know about Aramis’ arrival. It took a lot of convincing to keep Maria from jumping in her car and making the four-hour drive to see her older brother. Aramis is the middle of five children and the only brother. Treville always suspected that his growing up in the middle of four sisters attributed to his charm with women and his respect for women. Never once did he have to reprimand Aramis for improper proper behavior with women during his ROTC days, not like he had to with the other men.

Treville listens closely to Aramis, both to his breathing and his speaking. The most Treville has ever been able to find out is that Aramis led an ill-fated mission resulting in the deaths of 20 children and every member of his team, save for Aramis himself, who was very nearly on death’s door, likely knocking for entry, when he was rescued. Anything more than that has been sealed as part of the investigation or for the privacy of those involved. He’s heard the rumors though, the whispers as he asked around in the various military circles he’s still familiar with. Aramis has been labeled incompetent, a failure, worthless, a coward. At that was at best. At worse, he is a traitor and deserved more than a discharge from the Navy.

None of it Treville believes.

He’s known this young man since he came into his recruitment office, obviously distraught, though he did his best to hide it, wanting to enlist. Treville managed to get Aramis’ home phone number and delay the young man long enough for his dad to arrive. It was during that long hour of waiting that Aramis finally told him what he hadn’t told anyone. The one reason for him to throw aside a full scholarship to DePaul for the military. Isabel, her betrayal, and his unborn child. He hadn’t thought about the long-term consequences but was prepared to step-up when she told him two months later that their night in the back of his truck had left her pregnant. But then she made a decision and his child was dead. It was her choice, he knew, but Treville hadn’t seen a young man more distraught than Aramis at loss of his child. He wasn’t surprised when Aramis found him in the ROTC office on the first day of college orientation, joining the Navy the same day. The young man was better, but still not whole.

Today, tonight, he is worse than Treville has ever seen.

When Aramis cries out suddenly, a call for someone that’s louder than the rest of his mutterings, Treville jumps to his feet. As he sits on the coffee table, inches from Aramis, the young man is louder, his voice filled with anguish and tears.

“Aramis,” Treville calls out, loud enough that he hopes to be heard over the pleas. When Aramis continues as if he didn’t speak, Treville tries again, louder, closer to his old drill instructor tone, the tone that always stopped Aramis in his tracks, whatever dangerous path he was going down. It doesn’t work. Treville sighs. His last option is trying physically to wake the man, which he’s hesitant to do. He doesn’t have to be a doctor to know that Aramis is suffering from PTSD. But he also knows he has few options left and he can’t stand leaving Aramis trapped in his fever fueled nightmare.

He reaches out to lightly touch the young man’s shoulder, calling out his name. At the barest touch of his fingers, Aramis jumps and nearly falls off the couch in a coughing, hacking, sputtering mess. If Treville hadn’t been there, he would’ve landed on the floor, likely smacking his body on the coffee table on the way down. But then, Treville muses, if he hadn’t been there Aramis wouldn’t’ve had cause to jump like this.

It’s into Treville’s quick arms that Aramis falls and it’s Treville who takes the smack against the coffee table as he goes to his knees to rescue the young man from more unwarranted damage to his body. He holds on to Aramis’ thin frame as the man coughs, ignoring the smell of the streets, of Chicago. The change of clothes and quick wash with a warm wet towel could only do so much, after all. Tomorrow, he’ll have to wrangle Aramis into the tub for a proper bath. And cut back the hair and beard. There was no hope to salvage either with the knots.

When Treville hears a tell-tale change in the tone of coughing, he grabs a nearby bucket as Aramis brings up pale yellow bile. That, barring a few spare hacks, is the end of the coughing. Treville sets the bucket aside and grabs a towel to wipe away the string of bile tinged saliva that’s clung to Aramis’ chin. The young man doesn’t take notice as he’s working desperately to catch his breath.

“Steady breaths, ‘Mis,” Treville says, the old nickname coming back easily. It was a private nickname that Aramis allowed only the closest of family and friends to use.

When Aramis doesn’t respond and his breathing only grows more desperate and shallow, panic becoming clear, Treville grabs Aramis’ hand, ignoring the flinch and weak resistance to put the hand, palm down on his own chest.

“Feel my breathing, ‘Mis,” Treville says calmly, forcing himself to breathe steadily. “Match my pace. In…. Out.” There’s a subtle change, but Treville sees it clearly enough. “That’s it. Keep it up.” He keeps his tone light and encouraging.

Treville doesn’t care how long it takes. He does care that it works. Aramis is still pale, feverish, and exhausted, but he’s not panicking and he’s not desperate for his next breath. Treville settles him on the floor, his back leaning against the couch, feet stretched out in front of him. Treville mimics the position, keeping his body close enough to just touch Aramis. The young man isn’t asleep, but Treville doubts that he’s truly alert.

Because Aramis is calm, Treville leaves him be. When the young man starts shivering, he grabs a blanket from the couch and wraps it around the two of them because the extra body heat will only help Aramis to stop shivering sooner. And there’s precious little else Treville can think of to do to help him.

It works and, again, how long it takes, Treville doesn’t know. He’d spend hours here if it meant helping Aramis. This young man who’s been through more than is fair.

It might be morning, but Treville knows it’s not because minutes in crisis don’t really tick away that quickly. They are weathered by the slow force of time. Whenever it is, he hears something he doesn’t expect and it eases some the band that’s been tightening around his heart in the hours since Aramis arrived.

“Cap’n?” The voice is weak, scratchy, and nasally, but he would recognize it even heavily muffled by static.

“I’m here, ‘Mis.” Treville resists the urge to reach out a hand to pull the man in closer as he might have done years ago when he was still getting over the loss of his child and end of his first love.

“Why?” There’s confusion there. It’s more than that though. It’s confusion, hurt, apathy, worry. The emotions swirling around in Aramis are too much for Treville. The pain in his voice wrenches painfully as Treville’s own heart. And then, giving into old habits, he does pull Aramis closer. The young man doesn’t fight, but he does flinch and mutters an apology which Treville shushes because it’s not needed, not between old friends. When Aramis is leaning against his legs pulled up loosely, head leaning slightly awkwardly against Treville’s own thanks to their nearly even height, Treville finally speaks.

“I don’t know, ‘Mis.” Treville never had to inform any parents of the loss of their child. He was too old and better suited to train the adult children to go off and fight in battles not their own so someone else could tell their parents they’d died when the wars started. But he imagines this might have been how it felt to have to give that news. “I don’t know, ‘Mis, but I’m here.” Treville feels terrible for his pathetic answer but it’s the best he can give.

Aramis doesn’t speak again for a while, giving a sigh that turns into a few coughs, which, thankfully, don’t become anything prolonged. And when Sarah comes down at the crack of dawn, having barely slept herself over the worry about a young man she knows mostly from stories her husband tells about his antics and heartaches, she finds them still both under the blanket, Aramis leaning against Treville, calm and quiet save for his ragged, wheezing breathing. Both might be asleep; their eyes are peacefully shut. It doesn’t matter because the despair and heartache are lessened. Now is the time for healing, for listening, and for family because there’s no doubt in Sarah’s heart that Aramis is now a part of theirs.


	2. Talk to Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the wake of Aramis' latest suicide attempt, Athos is struggling with his own depression.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This follows up some on the chapter 30 (Learning to Trust) from Thirty-One Days Hath October. It's a follow up to the story the three tell d'Artagnan. 
> 
> There is some discussion of suicide in this story.

Athos has dealt with this for years, his entire life it seems, though his parents have assured him that he wasn’t always like this. For the most part now, however, he has it under control. There’s the occasional stress-related flare up, not surprising given his line of work as a Musketeer. And in the aftermath of finding Aramis bleeding out from self-inflicted cuts and dealing with his stubbornness as the hospital, he’s not surprised to be dealing with a severe flare-up.

Porthos and Treville have done what they can to help, helping him to get to his psychiatry appointments and keeping him in his routine. His all-important routine which has saved his sanity more times than he can count. When he’s feeling good, it’s easy to maintain the regular habits of sleeping, hygiene, eating, exercising, and relaxing, but when he’s not they become too cumbersome to even consider. His bed or the couch in the den are his refuges.

Athos doesn’t remember asking Porthos and Treville for their help in the beginning. In fact, other than checking the depression box on the application documents, he never told anyone. But they were at his door the first time his depression hit and he failed to show up to work and they didn’t stop knocking until Porthos picked the lock and let themselves in. Athos remembers half-heartedly fighting their efforts to help him, their initially confused, flustered attempts. They got better with it the next time. All of them.

But now, it’s harder because Aramis is here and Aramis is so much worse off than him. The three sit in the den, Porthos in the armchair that was a gift from Treville to Aramis, Aramis is huddled into a corner on the couch, his wrists still tightly bound in gauze and hidden by a thick sweater, and Athos is on the other side, forcing himself to sit upright and be attentive to the conversation.

They’re talking about what to do this evening. Aramis has been home for a few days and seems to be doing better than a couple weeks ago. If nothing else, he’s holding his own and that’s enough for Athos right now. It has to be because he’s just barely holding his own. Porthos knows. Treville knows. Because they’ve seen him like this before. Aramis is unaware but Athos doesn’t fault him. The young man is dealing with a lot and the fact that he’s able to sit with them in the den, occasionally offering an opinion on their plans is progress enough.

“What’re your thoughts, Athos,” Porthos asks. The words break through Athos’ haze of thoughts, but only just and it takes a moment to process the individual words as a complete sentence. And even then, he can’t think of a suitable response.

“I don’t know,” he says, mildly embarrassed at the loss of focus. He adds a simple shoulder shrug as if that might help. As he does so, he regrets it.

“It’s not a big decision. Pizza or Chinese?” Porthos’ words have no heat to them, at least intentionally. “Aramis said he didn’t care much either way. What do you think?”

He’s not surprised Aramis didn’t have an opinion. He’s fairly sure the young man expects them to throw him out any second for all the trouble he’s caused them. They’ve talked about this, but talks can only do so much. One day, Athos is confident, Aramis will believe them, trust them.

“It really doesn’t matter,” Athos says again. Food right now is not a thought and the idea of having to eat something makes him want to crawl under the covers of his bed and not come out for weeks.

“Athos,” Porthos sighs and Athos can hear the irritation. He looks away, not wanting to see Porthos’ face. What the man must be dealing with right now. It was easier when it was just one depressed person to deal with, now there are two. Though if Athos could bring himself to tell Porthos, he’d say to worry about Aramis first. Athos is long familiar with depression. He can handle it himself easily.

“I’m sorry, Porthos. I just don’t care. You always have wanted honesty and that’s the truth. I don’t fucking care.” Athos sees Aramis flinch as his harsh tone and immediately regrets his words. Porthos too is shocked at the outburst.

Then, without thought, Athos tosses aside the pillow he’d been fidgeting with and goes upstairs, at the last second catching his bedroom door that he’s pushed hard enough to slam. He partly misses and the door shuts loudly still. He hopes it doesn’t set Aramis off. He thinks he should go check, but the bed is far more tempting. And the guilt at that thought is overwhelming enough that he collapses on the bed and curls up.

And then it begins, or rather continues, the endless thoughts, the anxiety, and worry. One thought cascades into another without preamble. As they build so does the icy hold in his stomach, the familiar ache returning. It’s been hovering for days, weeks, if he’s honest and he tries to be, at least with himself and Porthos and Treville.

The knocking on the door doesn’t penetrate his thoughts for a while and then, when he does hear it, he ignores it, hoping Porthos will get a clue and leave him alone until he’s ready to come out.

“Athos.” That’s not Porthos, he realizes. Standing outside his door, persistently knocking is Aramis.

He should reply, ask if the young man needs anything, but he can’t.

“Athos, are you okay?” The worry in Aramis’ voice is clear.

Athos tries to speak, but what does he say. This man needs the truth from him too, but he worries about the damage it will cause.

“Athos, please, just make some noise to let me know you’re okay.” Aramis sounds on the verge of tears. He imagines the young man is itching to enter, but he knows the house rules, established in part because of him. Bedrooms are private sanctuaries to be entered only with the permission of the owner, unless imminent danger is present. “Throw something. I don’t care. It won’t bother me. Just make some noise.”

There’s some part of Athos that wonders if something’s happened to Porthos that’s led to Aramis coming after him, not Porthos himself. But he’s sure that if that happened, Aramis would’ve come in already or he’d have heard from Treville.

Athos gazes around lazily, seeing if anything within easy grasps can be thrown. There’s his phone, but as lethargic as he feels, he won’t throw that.

“Come,” Athos mumbles, loud enough hopefully for Aramis to hear.

“Did you say something?” Aramis might’ve heard, but the young man doesn’t trust his senses, himself. Even more, Athos knows that he waits for clear consent, which in Aramis’ current state can mean reassuring him several times of their words. In time, Athos hopes, that will go away. Right now, however, it’s more annoying than usual. It took a lot of energy to speak that one word last time and now he has to speak again.

“Come in, ‘Mis.” He hopes Aramis understands this time because he won’t, can’t repeat his words.

“I’m coming in, Athos,” Aramis says, voice still hesitant. Athos wonders when the man last felt confident in anything other than his lack of worth. Treville assures them that a confident Aramis is a force to be reckoned with. Athos hopes they’ll see that day.

The door opens slowly and Athos sees Aramis poke his head in.

“Hi, Athos,” Aramis says shyly. “I’m going to come all the way in, if you don’t mind.” Athos doesn’t respond and Aramis waits several moments. “I guess that’s an okay.” There’s an uneasy quirk of his lips, but Aramis does come all the way in, leaving the door cracked open behind him. Aramis never shuts a door and Athos can’t figure that one out.

“Porthos wanted to come up, but he’s still too upset,” Aramis says. “He’s getting dinner together.”

That explains some of this. He doesn’t understand what Aramis is doing up here though.

“What is he making?” Athos isn’t ready for the big questions.

“I don’t know. There was some cursing and banging of pots.”

That explains why Aramis is up here.

Athos stretches a hand out to pat an empty part of the bed, hoping Aramis will understand what he means. He doesn’t, but after some hesitation, he does pull up a chair to sit in next to the bed. His legs are pulled up as soon as he sits, tight against his chest that seems impossible for a grown man to do.

They sit in silence for a bit, occasionally stealing glances at each other before looking away.

“Why didn’t you say anything, Athos,” Aramis finally says quietly.

Athos raises an eyebrow at him.

“You’re depressed, Athos. If there’s anyone in this house that can recognize it, it’s me.”

“I’m fine,” Athos says automatically.

“You will be, but you’re not now. Why didn’t you say something?”

“Porthos knows. Treville too. It’s life. You get used to it.”

“Doesn’t make it easier.” Aramis pauses before quietly adding, “Especially with me making such a mess all the time.”

“No,” Athos says.

“Was it…” Aramis hesitates. “Was it my attempt that did this?” Officially Aramis’ incident has been ruled a suicide attempt but there is still some question about how intentional the deep cuts were given he was drunk. Aramis still hasn’t spoken much of it.

“No.” Athos shakes his head.

“But it was me.”

And this is why Athos hasn’t told Aramis. In the months that he’s known the young man, he feels like he understands the young man as though they’re old friends. He knows Aramis will find himself at fault. Athos won’t deny that taking care of Aramis has strained him, but that’s not Aramis’ fault. He’s prone to depression and it’s been no surprise to him that he’s fallen into the depths once again.

“No, ‘Mis. It’s not your fault.”

“But…”

“Can you help the illnesses you have, the flashbacks, the panic attacks, the nightmares,” Athos asks, interrupting Aramis.

“Maybe. Probably should.” Aramis shrugs his shoulders and Athos hold back a sigh. Aramis isn’t at the point yet to understand that none of this is his fault. They thought he was, but then came the incident.

“In time you will, but now, you can’t and that’s okay.” They’ve all told Aramis this so many times these past several months, hoping that one time it will sink in. “You can’t help it right now, so you’re not to blame and you never will be because you can’t help what’s happened to you. You know that I’ve had depression in the past and you know from meeting with the psychiatrist that just because you get over it, doesn’t mean that it won’t come back.” Athos pauses because stringing this many words together is more than his body can take right now. He tries to remember where he left off, where he started, but his mind is muddled. This might be the part that he hates the most. The inability to focus, to remember, to think.

“I’m sorry you have to keep telling me that. You’ve all told me so many times, but…” Aramis trails off.

“Your mind is a tough critic. Yeah, I know.”

Aramis nods. Then, after a long moment, he asks, “Do you ever talk to Porthos or Treville?”

They’ve all stressed to him talking to them about what’s going on, so it shouldn’t come as any surprise when Aramis turns the question back on him.

“Some,” Athos says. “Not really,” he adds a few seconds later.

“They’re good listeners.”

“I know.” Athos has tried, but try as they might, there’s something about it that they just don’t get and it frustrates him.

“Talk to me then,” Aramis says after a moment. “If you can’t talk to them, talk to me.”

Athos appreciates the offer, but he can’t, won’t burden Aramis with this. The young man is still dealing with his own trudges through mental illness. He won’t add to what he’s dealing with.

Athos shakes his head, not trusting his voice.

“Please, Athos. Who else is going to understand better than me? And haven’t you been telling me that it’s better to talk it out than keep it in?”

Athos wants to curse but that takes energy he doesn’t have.

“Let me help you, Athos. I want to. I don’t know that I help with much else, but I can listen.”

When Athos doesn’t answer, Aramis speaks again.

“I’ll be here, Athos. Whenever you’re ready. In your own time.”

Athos has heard those words, those sentiments spoken over and over again by his parents, his brother, his ex-wife, and his friends with varying degrees of sincerity. But Aramis spoke them with a clear understanding of what it meant to be told those words and stunned Athos, not because he thought the young man incapable of expressing them. But that there was another human out there capable of understanding, that Aramis, who was already dealing with so much, would try, would offer.

Still, it’s not that night that he takes up Aramis on his offer. Nevertheless, the young man is there, a steady presence as day turns to night, enveloping the room in an easy darkness, giving a warmth to it. And Athos finds that that night he doesn’t slip down any deeper.


	3. The Stranger in the Mirror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look in the mirror sets Aramis off, leaving Sarah and Treville to figure out what's happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one connects to chapter 29: Coming to Terms from Thirty-One Days Hath October. That story and this one deal with suicide, this one less so. But it does come in the aftermath of Aramis' attempt.

It’s the day after he gets out the hospital that he first sees himself. It’s not that he hasn’t looked in a mirror before now. He has but not often. His hands shake at random times so Treville often helps him with the shaving, especially after he nearly cut himself so deep he almost needed stitches. Having the older man keep him clean shaven should’ve bothered him.

He thinks that perhaps he’s not allowed in the bathroom on his own anymore, but Treville didn’t say anything when he drove him home yesterday. It should feel strange coming in here, to the scene of the crime but he doesn’t really think about it until he looks up into the mirror and the face that reflects back is not his own.

“Aramis.” The voice is worried, frantic, and familiar. But it doesn’t do more than register on his periphery. They try again, even more concerned. Then.

“Jean, I don’t know what happened.”

There’s a pause.

“No, no I don’t think he did anything, but he’s just staring.”

A pause again.

“Okay. Yes, I’ll keep trying. But get here, soon.” Their voice is terse with worry and then they turn back to him. “Aramis, come on. Just look at me. You’re scaring me, Aramis.”

Then there’s a smack across his cheek. Then another and a desperate sob. Each one hurts more.

And finally, he blinks, takes a ragged breath, and turns his aching head.

“Aramis,” Sarah asks. She’s kneeling next to him on the floor, face red.

“I’m fine,” he says without thinking.

Sarah gives him a look.

He sighs, resting his head back on the wall. “I’m never going to be allowed back in here alone, am I?” There might be a touch of humor there, but he doesn’t mean it. He knows the trouble he’s caused this family and the one question that routinely runs through his mind is why he doesn’t just leave. He could let them continue their lives without the burden of him, enjoy the coming arrival of their youngest one.

He can’t admit to himself why he sticks around.

“What happened, Aramis,” Sarah asks. She’s carefully leaned back to sit opposite him, legs stretched out in front of her. Getting back up off the floor at eight months pregnant is going to be difficult for her, he thinks. How she got down on the floor of the small bathroom without hurting herself, he doesn’t know and only makes him feel more guilt. He strangles a cry at the thought of hurting her and her unborn child.

“Aramis?”

He shakes his head and takes a breath to push away everything.

“Tell me what happened?” She’s not forceful in her words. He knows that she studied psychology and he’s glad that never once has she tried to put that knowledge into action, never once tried to be a psychologist. And she still doesn’t, not even when it’s clear that he in desperate need of a session. His next one is in a week. First real one actually now that he has his benefits reinstated.

Treville goes to all that work, he thinks, and how does he repay the man. By trying to kill himself. He wants to control himself, to put up a front like he used to. The mantra of “I’m fine” doesn’t work as the tears come, but they’re more ugly, ragged sobs that rob him of his breath and composure until he can do nothing but collapse onto his side, head barely missing the wall as he pulls his knees up and hugs his heaving chest with his arms.

Sarah’s speaking to him, but he doesn’t understand her.

Instead, he thinks of what he’s done and all they’ve done for him. And he can’t believe what he’s done, not to himself but to them. To Treville and Sarah, but also Tim and Ben. What they’ve had to endure because of him, their young eyes exposed too early to the realities of life. And he’s responsible. More children’s lives ruined at his doing.

He’s not thinking anymore, not coherently at least. It’s the same thoughts, muddled and repeated until they become a terrible anthem.

In his mind, Aramis doesn’t see the panic he is causing Sarah, doesn’t know how close she is to calling 911 when he starts shaking, muttering. He doesn’t know that it’s only Treville’s frantic arrival that stops her from pushing the second one. She shuts off the phone and cries as he takes her into his arms, lifting her from the floor, trying to calm her as once again she’s been left to deal with Aramis.

“What’s happened,” Treville asks, still holding onto Sarah. He feels her trembling, saw the red face and recently dried tears. He hasn’t looked in on Aramis yet. As much as the young man means to him, Sarah is his primary concern.

“I don’t know,” she says, swallowing her tears. “I was in the kitchen getting lunch together when I heard a noise in here and… and I…”

“Though maybe he did it again,” Treville finishes for her. He wants to think that Aramis wouldn’t try again, that ending up in the ER, scaring Sarah, that their tears might have meant something. But he’s not that naïve. If Aramis truly wants to kill himself, he knows the young man will find a way. Last week was the first time Treville knows Aramis has actually made an attempt. If they hadn’t been so vigilant these past several weeks, there would’ve been more.

Sarah nods her head. “He didn’t though, but he wasn’t responding. Barely did when I finally caught his attention and then this.” She points to Aramis, lying curled on the floor, still dry sobbing, shivering, and mumbling.

Not for the first time, Treville wonders if they’re in over their heads, if keeping Aramis here is unfair to the young man. He’s always been a firm believer in free will, but he knows that Aramis can’t make those decisions, not with his mental state. The Aramis he knows, the one he’s gotten only brief glimpses of wouldn’t want to die.

“Why don’t you go back to the kitchen. I’ll take care of him.” Treville’s not condescending.

“No, I’ll stay here. You might need help.”

He gives her a questioning look.

“I know your concerns and I know his. He’s not hurt me yet and I know that he never will. He needs to learn to trust himself.”

“And staying around with his worse fear is going to help,” he asks quietly.

“Leaving isn’t going to help either. He has to see that he can trust himself around children. He does fine with Ben.”

“Ben never gave him a choice.”

They both chuckle lightly at that.

Sarah found out some weeks ago why Aramis doesn’t want to be near her and why he seems to fear the children. Jean hadn’t meant to tell her, but he was frustrated by the military’s unwillingness to overturn the OTH discharge. She doesn’t force Aramis to be around her, knowing that it might trigger him, but she also doesn’t hide. And it’s helped. On his good days, which are few, he works with her in the kitchen baking up delicious treats the kids gobble up the moment they get through the door. On his bad days, she almost calls for Jean to come home hourly. It’s nothing that Aramis does, but knowing how much pain her presence causes, she fears going to him. The okay days, Aramis is skittish at times but looks and speaks to her. He also helps if asked, but she doesn’t unless there’s a great need for his help.

More than anything, she wants him to know that she trusts him with her kids as much as she does Athos or Porthos.

Today was an okay day, she thought.

Treville nods and finally lets her go to go to Aramis.

“Could you get him his blanket,” Treville asks, kneeling in front of the man’s upper body. “Aramis,” Treville says, voice firm. He’s been in this position too many times to know that soft voices aren’t going to cut it.

“Jean,” Sarah says. She’s holding the blanket out to him. He takes it from her and she moves back to lean against the door frame. The last week has left her tired, but she’s okay with it because they got Aramis through the rough patch, or so she thought.

Treville lays the blanket over the shivering form and that’s what startles Aramis back to reality with a painful shudder and a deep, ragged breath. Then he’s quiet, dangerously so, it seems to Treville and Sarah.

“Let’s get you up off the floor,” Treville says, not waiting for the man to consent before lifting him up. Aramis can’t afford to get sick after the trouble he had with his lungs in the hospital after the overdose. An illness is likely to send him back to the hospital.

“No. No. No,” Aramis mumbles, voice rough from his fit on the floor. Treville isn’t sure if it was a flashback or a panic attack or something new they have to be concerned about. “Don’t deserve. Stop. Why? Stop. Why?” Aramis keeps up the mantra as Treville settles the man’s still thin and trembling body against him. Sarah steps forward to take the blanket and wrap it around the two of them. It’s a familiar sight. She steps back to take a seat on the toilet lid.

“Why what, Aramis,” Treville asks. He doesn’t feel like re-stating everything, every reason why to everything he knows is bothering Aramis. He’s not angry or impatient, but he is tired. The role of caregiver is a hard one but he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

“Why,” Aramis asks again. Then, voice cracking often with emotion, “Worth…less. Too… much… Burd’n…. Why? No… good.”

Without thinking Treville pulls the young man into a tight embrace. There’s no flinching this time, just the trembling offset with the occasional bone-rattling shiver. Treville doubts there’s much energy left in him to resist.

“You’re never too much, ‘Mis. Never. Do you know how long I looked for you? Every possible sighting, report of someone matching your description in an ER, jail, anywhere, I was there. I am so glad that you’re here. I just wish,” Treville pauses. “I wish you didn’t have to deal with all of this. It’s not fair.”

“It’s fair,” Aramis mumbles, head leaning tiredly against Treville’s. He’s tired of dealing with the day to day, hour to hour. The minutes, seconds tick by so slowly sometimes.

“I don’t know what I can do to convince you that it’s not.”

“Then I try to kill myself.” Aramis continues on as if he’s not heard Treville. “Some thanks that is. Everything you do and I decide to kill myself in your bathroom.”

“Aramis, stop,” Treville says firmly. “Aramis, you weren’t thinking clearly when you tried to kill yourself last week.”

“Some thanks that was.”

“Aramis, please stop,” Sarah says. She’s moved a socked foot underneath the blanket until she finds Aramis’ feet. It’s the best she can do to give him more human contact right now, contact that usually pulls him out of these downward spirals.

Aramis responds by banging his head against the wall and tries to again when Treville puts a quick hand up between him and the wall.

“Don’t do that. It won’t take away the thoughts. You’re only going to give yourself a worse headache.”

“Can’t do anything right,” Aramis whines pathetically. The tone cuts at Treville and Sarah. Neither like the hopelessness in there.

“Don’t talk like that,” Sarah says, running her foot over Aramis’ to try to bring him some comfort.

“Sarah’s right,” Treville says. “What started this? What happened in here?”

For a long moment, Aramis doesn’t speak. Then, quietly, he says, “I looked in the mirror.”

“I don’t understand. You’ve looked in the mirror before. What did you see this time?”

“Myself.”

“And?”

“It wasn’t me. Not who I remember at least.”

Neither of them had realized that Aramis wasn’t seeing himself in the mirror, even though they know that he doesn’t look in the mirror all that often. That might be more an unconscious move than they thought.

Treville will readily admit that Aramis looks little like he did before, not even like the one time Treville was able to visit him in the hospital after Afghanistan. Gone now is the healthily filled out face, the tanned-skin. His hair is short, his beard and mustache gone, eyes always rimmed in dark circles. There’s little healthy in his appearance, not with the thinness of his face too present and his dark brown hair making his pale skin even paler.

“You’ll get better,” Treville says, cursing the pathetic-ness as he does so.

Aramis shakes his head. “Can’t. Won’t.”

Treville sighs, thinking of what to say. Sarah gets to it before he can, though.

“Not today or tomorrow, no. Not even next week. And probably not next month either. But you will. You don’t want to believe it, can’t see it now, but you’re a fighter, Aramis. You could’ve given up so many times before coming here. Back in Afghanistan, in the hospital, on the streets. But you never did. You found your way here. You’ll find your way out because you’re not alone now. You have me and Jean, every step of the way, even if it’s a hundred steps back.”

He’s too old to be her child, but she’ll fight for him as though he were.

“Can’t. Too much.”

“Right now, yes,” Treville says. “For now, let’s focus on today, this minute. Let’s get you up and in the den where you can be more comfortable.”

For a while, Aramis doesn’t respond and Treville contemplates hauling the young man up himself. He weighs far less than he used to, so it might be possible but his knees ache at the thought of the strain.

Then Aramis shifts, tries to put his feet under him, but it’s more akin to a newborn deer trying to stand for the first time. Treville quickly moves to help him to his feet, steadying him on shaky legs. He helps Aramis to the den, taking advantage of the forward movement. Behind them, Sarah brings the blanket. Maria sent it when she found out that Aramis had been found. It was knitted by their grandmother and was a favorite of Aramis’.

Treville helps Aramis to settle on the couch, letting the young man lay down. Sarah lays the blanket over Aramis and adds a second to help with the shivering that won’t stop. Treville picks up a stuffed animal, a teddy bear, that Ben gave to Aramis for Christmas when the young man couldn’t sleep for several days, long enough that Treville considered taking him to the ER even though it would break their savings to do so. The teddy bear works sometimes and Treville hopes it will now as he sets it near Aramis’ chest. After a moment, Aramis pulls the bear close, bringing the blankets over top of it so that only it’s head stuck out.

Then he cries, real, wet tears.

And they sit with him until he’s spent for now, not considering how often they’ve done this or will again, not judging the young man for his breakdown, for the torrent of tears because it’s not his fault. And they will always, no matter what, be there for him. He’s not theirs by blood, but he might as well be for all they care.


	4. A Fidget Situation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> d'Artagnan is left puzzled by why Athos means when he says 'Get Fidget' and it sends Porthos on a frantic mission home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a little lighter and it's not a follow up to any other stories.

It’s d’Artagnan who first stumbles upon them, an off-hand look in an old shack that he thinks couldn’t hold anything, let alone two of his team members, his friends. He calls out to Porthos and Treville as he frantically kneels next to the two unresponsive men. They’re both pale, shivering, huddled under a thin blanket, and breathing harshly. They’ve been missing for a week now, taken when they went to question a suspect about their current case.

d’Artagnan waits until Porthos and Treville show up to disturb them anymore. Medical personnel are on their way, several feet behind them.

“They move at all,” Porthos asks. He’s kneeling behind Aramis, looking both men over to see if he can detect any injury.

“No, just breathing. I didn’t try to move them though. Thought I’d wait until the two of you were here,” d’Artagnan says.

“Good idea,” Treville says. “Let’s get a start on checking them for injuries.”

It’s when they try to pull Aramis away from Athos, to loosen the younger man’s grip around Athos’ waist that they get the first reaction and unsurprisingly it’s from Aramis, who lets out a loud no and what might be a snarl, weakly trying to buck them off of him while keeping his grip tight.

Then Athos puts a hand back, gently kneading Aramis’ thigh and muttering calming words. It’s enough to calm the young man.

d’Artagnan moves to try again, but Porthos stops him.

“Leave ’em.”

“But they’re going to have to be separated soon anyway.”

“When the EMTs get here, then we’ll deal with it. If he’s holding on to Athos that tightly, then something went down here and he needs that grasp.”

d’Artagnan looks to Treville, who nods. He knows that the two older men know them better than he does, are familiar with their quirks and issues. It frustrates him sometimes but he knows that each incident, each time he learns something new and helpful.

Then the EMTs arrive and d’Artagnan steps back as he watches Porthos and Treville work with the EMTs to loosen Aramis’ grip and keep them both calm. When they’re stable, both men are medevacked out to a hospital in the middle of the city. It’s not their normal one, so Treville goes with them, prepared to leverage his position in whatever way possible to keep his men safe and calm.

Porthos and d’Artagnan, stuck in traffic, arrive an hour later. It’s a long evening, night as the three wait for news. The nurses don’t know them here, so they can’t get little tidbits as the doctors and nurses work, they don’t get to go back and see their friends being seen to.

Early the next morning, d’Artagnan sits, the only one of three awake, in Athos’ room. Porthos is asleep next to him and Athos has yet to awaken. Treville is with Aramis, who is stuck in ICU, with a severe case of pneumonia and broken ribs as the worst of the worries among the cuts and bruises. Athos is slightly better off, mostly in not having pneumonia. He’s bruised and cut with a few broken ribs, a dislocated shoulder, and a fever to go with the chest cold he has. Both were definitely unconscious on arrival and have slipped between that and a restless sleep since being treated. But at least they are safe and on the road to health, d’Artagnan thinks.

Maybe an hour later, Athos begins to wake in unsteady, drowsy spurts. d’Artagnan thinks he’s back asleep when he hears a rough voice.

“d’Art’n?” Athos’ voice is thick with sleep and scratchy. d’Artagnan helps him take a few sips from the nearby cup.

“How’re you feeling,” d’Artagnan asks. He stands next to the bed looking down at Athos, who’s trying to get his bearings, slowly blinking a few times.

“You found us?” He looks lazily up at d’Artagnan.

“Yesterday morning.”

“’Mis?”

“Upstairs in ICU. Treville’s with him.”

“ICU?”

“Pneumonia and broken ribs aren’t a good mix, not with asthma. It seems mostly to be a precaution.”

“Good.” Athos nods his head tiredly, eyes drooping. “Get Fidget,” he says before dropping back to sleep.

Puzzled at his last words, d’Artagnan sits back to wait for Porthos to wake. He sends a quick text to Treville to let him know Athos woke up.

“He wake up yet,” Porthos asks when he wakes some time later.

“Yeah. He was tired and groggy. Asked about Aramis,” d’Artagnan says.

“Sounds normal.” Porthos stretches out his long legs. The chairs aren’t made for sleeping in but after their long week of searching he didn’t care how uncomfortable they were.

“Yeah. He also said something about getting fidget.”

“Damn,” Porthos curses quietly and stands quickly.

“What’s Fidget?”

“Later. Tell Treville I went to pick up something from home. I’ll be back in an hour, hopefully.” And then Porthos is gone leaving a puzzled d’Artagnan to ponder what Fidget was.

When Sarah arrives to give him a break, Treville comes down to check on Athos, d’Artagnan tells him about Porthos.

“Damn,” Treville says just as quietly and assuredly as Porthos did.

“What’s Fidget?” d’Artagnan tries to keep his voice steady. He doesn’t want to disturb Athos.

“It’s who,” comes the rough voice of Athos, awake despite d’Artagnan’s efforts. He clears his throat, coughing at the effort.

“A stuffed animal,” Treville explains, stepping forward to ease Athos up as he coughs.

“A stuffed animal? And why is it so important?”

“It… was a gift,” Athos says, between the last of the coughing fit. Treville helps him drink some water before easing him back down.

“From Ben, the first Christmas Aramis spent with us,” Treville adds.

“That teddy bear with a blue cape that sits on his bed?” In the short time d’Artagnan’s been with the Musketeers he’s not often been in Aramis’ room, but he couldn’t miss the well-worn foot tall teddy bear sitting against the pillows at the head of the bed.

“Ben thought it would help Aramis to sleep, to not feel alone because Ben had a teddy bear that always helped,” Treville says. “He used all of his birthday money to buy it hoping it would help his new friend.” It’d also taken some of their money but Ben didn’t know that. The boy had been so happy to present Aramis with his gift.

“And did it?”

“Most of the time, it does. It’s a comfort for him when he’s having a bad day. It’s not just something to hold onto, it’s a reminder that he’s never alone.”

“He used it a lot at first. Had to re-stitch it a few times, get it washed more than that,” Athos says slowly, trying to keep his breathing under control so he wouldn’t cough. That stuffed animal has been through a lot but Aramis refuses to let them replace it.

“Why does he need it now? One of us is always with him.”

“It’ll keep him out of his mind,” Porthos says, entering with the teddy bear in hand. “The more he can stay out of his mind and not get pulled down by his thoughts, the quicker and better he’ll heal.”

“And he doesn’t like hospitals much,” Treville says. “This’ll calm him a bit.”

“Will they let him have it up there,” d’Artagnan asks. He’s not trying to cause problems, but he wonders if they’ll allow a grown man a stuffed animal.

“I don’t think they’ll mind. And once he gets his grips on it, they won’t be able to pry it out of his hands. Right, Athos?” Treville gives the sick Musketeer a knowing look.

“As ill as he was, he had quite the grip,” Athos says. He wasn’t and still isn’t angry about having been a life-sized teddy bear for Aramis. It had calmed the young man enough that he didn’t run off and get himself into more trouble. Given the weather, it also probably helped them to survive the chilly temperatures with no fire and a thin blanket.

“How’s he doing,” Porthos asks Treville.

“Still not awake, but the doctor seems confident. His breathing and fever are as bad as they’ve ever been it seems, though. The nightmares and flashbacks are minimal, but I think he’s more unconscious than sleeping right now. Sarah’s sitting with him now.”

“You should get some rest. I doubt you got much up there.”

“I’ll take this up and then I will,” Treville says, point to the teddy bear. “Get some rest, Athos,” he tells the man, who’s doing his best to stay awake, though his eyelids are easily at half-mast.

“Tell Sarah one of us will be up in an hour,” Porthos calls out to Treville as the older man is leaving with the teddy bear in hand.

As Athos finally gives in to sleep, d’Artagnan and Porthos resume their old seats, waiting for the rotation of friend-sitting duties.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The name of the teddy bear comes from the name Santiago Cabrera gave his horse while filming The Musketeers or at least joked about naming his horse. Sorry if the name is lame. I couldn’t think of any other name and I couldn’t imagine Aramis giving the teddy bear a cutesy name or a person’s name.


	5. Missing the Christmas Mood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aramis is struggling to enjoy himself at Christmas time with lingering injuries preventing him from seeing family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a return of Treville and Sarah's children. They are, in order of oldest to youngest, Tim, Ben, and Meg.

Aramis is standing in the Lego store trying to enjoy himself. It’s not that it’s a week before Christmas and every kid within a 100-mile radius is in this store. Nor is it that out of the three Treville kids, he was paired with Tim without question. He knows why Athos did it. He’s still recovering from being stabbed nearly a month and a half ago. With a pierced lung and a chest cold that later set in, moving, let alone breathing has been difficult. Tim, the oldest of the kids, is quieter and understands that Aramis has to be careful. Aramis will admit to being a little aggravated that throughout the morning Tim’s conveniently arranged for them to find some area to sit down when Aramis starts flagging. What’s more, Tim has apparently learned from Sarah and Athos how to get him to rest without realizing it at first or protesting.

Aramis thinks that it might be that Porthos, Athos, and d’Artagnan picked the other two out of a hat. Porthos is teamed with Ben and Athos with Meg, which meant that d’Artagnan was also going with Athos. As the youngest and easily the most rambunctious, having two adults keeping an eye on her was safer. It might also be his lingering weakness. His low lung function aggravates his asthma, leaving him often winded and tired. It also means that he won’t be able to see Maria and Oliva this year for Christmas as planned. He reluctantly agreed with his friends and doctor last week that it isn’t safe for him to make the trip down south. The risk to his health isn’t worth it.

“You ready to go, Aramis,” Tim asks. He has his items in hand and is eyeing the long checkout line. Aramis tries not to groan at the length.

“You have what you wanted?”

“Yep. I found a couple really cool city sets for Meg to play with.” Their parents gave each of the kids thirty dollars to supplement their allowance money. Meg and Ben being younger and with less money saved thanks to fewer chores got a little more to help them out. The goal of today’s shopping adventure is for the kids to buy their presents for each other and their parents. Athos and Porthos started this tradition a few years before Aramis joined, taking Tim out to buy his parents’ gifts and give his parents a break. When Ben was old enough, he joined them. Now each of the kids looks forward to the day out with their uncles at the mall.

“How’re you doing, ‘Mis,” Tim asks as they join the back of the line.

“I’m doing okay,” Aramis says. It’s mostly the truth. There’s a bit of a pinch in his chest, but it’s manageable. He’ll need to rest soon, but for now, he’s good.

“How long do you think it’ll take us to get through the line?”

Aramis silently thanks Athos for teaming him up with Tim. The oldest boy knows when to drop a topic.

“Ten, fifteen minutes? Depends on how many problems there are.” The cashiers are moving quickly, but there’s also the stream of questions they have to ask that force them to slow down as the customer contemplates or makes some sarcastic response to the questions. Then there are the customer questions about the price and sales and coupons. It’s really more than Aramis wants to consider. He’s on the edge of being tired and has to work to keep his crankiness from bubbling up.

“You think we’ll get to the food court before them?” The plan is to meet up around 1pm for lunch, hoping to avoid the main lunch rush.

“We should make it. Do you still want to get your things wrapped at the gift wrapping station for charity down the way,” Aramis asks. The local Boys and Girls Club is out wrapping presents today to raise money for their programs.

“Yeah. It’ll help the kids out and I’m sure they’ll wrap these things better than I can.”

Fortunately, there’re adults and older teens there wrapping things, Aramis thinks. Some kids have the knack for wrapping, but many don’t until they’re older and have those fine motor skills and patience.

“Plus, if I don’t get them wrapped, then Meg is going to keep looking until she gets a peek at what I got her,” Tim says with a chuckle.

“And Porthos will help,” Aramis adds, smiling at the thought. Porthos is like a big kid at Christmas with gifts. It’s not that he wants the gifts, he’s just not good with surprises and when teamed up with Meg, they’re a force to be reckoned with. Aramis is sure that some of Porthos’ antics are done for their benefit as well as the kids’.

They continue talking, chatting about this and that as the line moves up. By the time they get to the front, Aramis is glad to have the counter to lean against but he tries to hide his exhaustion from Tim. He feels bad that the boy was assigned to him and has had to keep watch over him. It’s not fair to him.

“We’re ready to go, Aramis.” He hears Tim say. There’s a gentle nudge on his elbow that further gets him going and he tries not to trudge out of there back into the sea of people in the wide hallways. The deep breath he takes to prepare himself gets caught in his lungs and leaves him coughing. Tim pulls him down a smaller hallway which leads to a set of restrooms. He’s a good foot shorter than Aramis, but he still manages to keep a comforting hand on his back as he’s seen his parents and uncles do, rubbing it in circles at times as Aramis holds a panicked hand against his chest where the wound was as if each cough might break open the recently healed injury.

When he’s done, he wants to sink to the floor and stay there until the mall closes and he’s kicked out, but he’s already drawn enough attention and he can’t do that to Tim.

“You need anything,” Tim asks. Aramis looks to the side to see his worried gaze.

“No.” Aramis shakes his head. He takes a shallow breath, feeling his lungs starve slightly at the lack of air. “Let’s go get your stuff wrapped.”

“That can wait.”

“No, let’s get it taken care of and then we’ll head to the food court.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I know, but I want you to get them wrapped. I’ll be good for now.” Aramis tries to keep his voice confident, but he’s not sure how well it works.

“Okay, but we’re going slow and on the edge where there are fewer people. And you have to tell me if you need to stop.”

“You sound like your father there.” Aramis gives him a small smile. “I’ll be careful. Let’s get going before the others send out the National Guard to track us down.”

Tim still looks reluctant, but he moves anyway, gently guiding Aramis down the side of the hallway. They move slowly, occasionally forcing irritated fellow shoppers to walk around them, but Tim keeps his promise. At the gift wrapping booth, there’s another line. By the time they’re at the front, Aramis is too tired to pay attention. Tim is a confident kid and more than capable of talking with the people at the booth.

Before Aramis knows it, they’re walking away and Tim is pointing him to a ring of seats placed around a small tree.

“Where’re your things,” Aramis asks, finally becoming alert when they sit down. Tim doesn’t have his bags with him.

“They’re being wrapped. They’ll let me know when they’re done.”

“We could’ve waited,” Aramis says, knowing even as he speaks how pathetic his voice sounds.

“And we can over here, too.”

“Tim,” Aramis warns lightly. There’s no anger in his voice, though.

“You were swaying over there, ‘Mis. I’m not sure you would’ve been standing much longer.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Aramis pauses, thinking. “You probably should’ve gone with one of the others.”

“Mom and Dad thought about that, but I wanted you to come.”

“But you would be able to have much more fun with the others,” Aramis counters.

“Would you have had fun being stuck at home with my parents?”

“Well,” Aramis pauses to take a shallow breath, “on the whole I have nothing wrong with them, but they can be quite the mother hens. And this chest thing has only made them worse.”

“It was scary, ‘Mis. They were really worried about you. They tried not to tell us, but I know they were worried you might not make it.”

Aramis sighs. “I know, Tim. This one was a bad one.” There were times when he was struggling for a breath in the ICU that he himself wondered if he was going to make it.

His thoughts are interrupted by someone calling out Tim’s name. His packages are ready. They pick them up and Aramis puts some money in their tip jar before they make their way back through the crowds to the food court. It’s a long walk as the food court is on the other side of the mall, the wide hallway of which zig-zags. There are a few times that Tim pulls him off to the side, letting him lean against the wall as he tries to gather more energy and willpower to keep up the trek.

When they enter into the half-filled food court, he doesn’t even realize it he’s so tired. It’s Tim who stops him from moving anymore with a light tug on his arm.

“Aramis,” Porthos says, worry in his voice. He moves forward to help his friend.

“P’thos?” Aramis wonders when he started sounding so tired.

“I think I took him around to too many places,” Tim says. “He almost passed out at the gift wrapping booth.”

Aramis would like him not to tell them everything, but then he figures his appearance probably wouldn’t help his case if he told them he was fine.

“I’m jus’ tir’d,” he says.

“Let’s get you sitting down before you collapse,” Athos says. He’s come up on the other side of Aramis to help Porthos guide the young man to a seat. Eyes closed in exhaustion, Aramis lets them take over his movements. He doesn’t have the energy to care and he trusts them implicitly. When there’s a gentle push on his shoulders, he sits and puts his head down on his folded arms on the table. Soon they’re going to make him eat and he’s going to need every scrap of energy to do that.

“They weren’t kidding when they said you’re still recovering,” a familiar voice says. It takes his tired mind more than a few seconds to process the voice, but when it does he feels a surge of energy and pops his head up.

“Maria?” He sees his youngest sister sitting across from him, looking at him with a mixture of joy and worry. Then he looks to her side. “Olivia!”

“Hi, Uncle Aramis,” Olivia says with a happy wave.

“But… How… What…” Aramis looks to his sister and niece, then to his brothers.

“We knew how upset you were you couldn’t see them this year,” d’Artagnan says.

“So, we thought we would bring them to you,” Porthos adds.

“But the weather, the snow,” Aramis says, still taking in the surprise his brothers arranged. Maria is a good driver, but they’d gotten an early snowstorm that made the roads a nightmare in areas.

“I went down last night to pick them up,” Constance says. She’s standing next to his brothers. Of them all, she is the best at driving in the snow.

“You shouldn’t have. It’s really bad out there and it must’ve been terrible on the interstate.”

“You’re one of the few people on this planet that I’d do it for, Aramis,” she says.

He pauses, looking at his friends with a smile. “Thank you, all of you,” Aramis says. He looks to his sister and niece, feeling his eyes well up. “This is the best Christmas present, ever.”

“You’re welcome,” Athos says. They all sit and listen as Aramis, Maria, and Olivia talk. Occasionally one of them chimes in with some detail or comment, but mostly they watch as Aramis starts to get some of his energy back. He’s still tired looking, but he’s happier. There’s more of a spark in his eyes and less of a droop in his shoulders. Athos sends a quick text to Treville and Sarah to let them know how the surprise went. Even up to last night, they were all hesitant to let Aramis go to the mall, concerned that it would be too much for his still healing body. But with Tim’s convincing and promise to look after Aramis as well as knowing that this surprise was coming, they decided it would be the best for his spirits.

“Who’s hungry,” Porthos says, interrupting the conversation. The kids cheer and Aramis groans less than he would have a half-hour ago. This is just what he needed. His friends may be so close they’re family, but it’s nothing like seeing his youngest sister and niece. They bring a joy to his heart that the others, try as they might, just can’t.


	6. Just One Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aramis notices that something's off with d'Artagnan and wonders when the young man will decide to trust one of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Musketeers in this AU are an experiment in policing. While they are assigned the bigger, tougher cases, their training is also harder. All Musketeers must earn a Masters degree. I didn’t do this for elitist reasons. (The Musketeer division pays for the schooling and all Musketeers volunteer as tutors or TAs in exchange.) Graduate school makes you work with and think about concepts and society in different ways, which you may not get in day-to-day life. The idea and the experiment in terms of this AU are that a better-educated police force would be able to better serve the public because they don’t think in simple binaries. They see the bigger picture and the nuances of each situation. None of this is to say that the average police officer can’t or doesn’t do this, but given the problems the US does have with police, I thought this would be an interesting experiment that a city such as Chicago might undertake.
> 
> This one continues on with the frame story from chapter 30: Learning to Trust from Thirty-One Days Hath October.

After their talk with d’Artagnan about learning to trust one of them enough to talk to rather than keeping his worries and concerns kept in, Aramis thought that the young man might come to one of them shortly after. He knows that Porthos and Athos wouldn’t tell him what they’d talked about, but that they would let him know that d’Artagnan had talked to them. A few weeks after that first talk, Aramis wants to sit the young man down and talk to him. He can see that d’Artagnan is struggling. His sleep has been erratic and the dark circles under his eyes are growing deeper. At work, he’s been short with all of them to the point that Treville and Athos have pulled him aside to talk with him about his attitude. His advisor at school contacted them earlier this week about his declining performance, largely in terms of participation. d’Artagnan is a regular participant in class discussion but has apparently grown rather silent and distant from his classmates. A professor was concerned, knowing d’Artagnan’s job, that something might’ve happened that they didn’t know about.

He won’t corner the younger man though, not unless d’Artagnan starts to really spiral out of control. There’s still time for him to open up to one of them on his own.

Friday evening, at the end of a long week of research and talking to witnesses without making any substantial progress on their case, the four of them are in the kitchen preparing a trio of pizzas. Porthos is in charge of the dough and sauce, Aramis the salad and dessert, a peach cobbler, and d’Artagnan and Athos are on vegetable and meat cutting duty. Both are terrible at cooking but excellent with knives.

The evening seems to be going fine until d’Artagnan curses and throws down his knife.

“What happened,” Athos asks. He’s stopped working, as have they all.

d’Artagnan curses again as he holds his hand.

“d’Artagnan,” Porthos asks, concern in his voice.

When the young man still doesn’t speak, his face scrunched slightly in pain and frustration, Aramis speaks.

“Let’s go into the bathroom down here and get that taken care of.” He gently pushes d’Artagnan out of the kitchen and down the hall to the bathroom at the end.

“Pull your hand away and let’s see what happened,” Aramis says.

“It’s probably nothing,” d’Artagnan counters. “Like everything this week,” he adds quietly.

“You never know until we take a look. Now, please, pull your hand away and let’s see if I can take care of this here or you’ll need the ER,” Aramis says with a small smile.

“There’s no blood streaming out, Aramis. I doubt I need the ER.”

“d’Artagnan,” Aramis says simply.

With a small sigh, d’Artagnan pulls away his hand that had been covering the wounded area. To his surprise there is some blood there, seeping from a small cut on the back of his hand.

“Well, it’s not the worst cut I’ve seen.” Aramis turns on the faucet, testing the water as it warmed. “Run your hand under there for a moment to get it clean.” As d’Artagnan holds his hand under the water, Aramis pulls out their first aid kit, which is always kept well stocked.

“That should be enough.” Aramis turns off the faucet and proceeds to clean the wound. The cut is small, so it’s not long until he has it cleaned.

“Pick your band-aid.” Aramis points to the collection of band-aids. There’s an assortment included neons, standard, Star Wars, and pirates. Quietly, d’Artagnan points to one of the standard band-aids. “You sure,” Aramis asks. The pirates were a personal pick of d’Artagnan’s.

“Yeah.” d’Artagnan nods. Without further comment, Aramis takes out a regular colored band-aid and covers the wound with it.

“Thanks,” d’Artagnan says, standing to leave.

“Wait.” Aramis steps in the doorway to stop the young man.

“I’m fine, Aramis. Now let me get back to cutting up stuff for dinner,” d’Artagnan says tersely.

“When was the last time you cut yourself with a knife?”

“It happens, Aramis. Now, let me go.” He tries to push his way past Aramis, but his hand, the one with the cut, gets caught against the counter and the sharp edge sends a blinding pain through from the small cut through his body. Immediately, he grabs the hand, clutching it as he lets out a string of curses and falls back against the wall.

The whole time, he knows on the periphery, that Aramis is there. He feels the touches of his hands guiding him back to sit on the floor so that he doesn’t hurt something more and he hears the gentle assurances that he’s there.

Moments later, when the pain is down to a mild ebbing, he opens his tear-streaked eyes, not aware until then that he’d been crying. Aramis is in front of him, sitting patiently, the door behind him firmly shut. d’Artagnan expects him to say something, but he remains quiet, not staring, not pressuring, just waiting with a patience that he doesn’t normally associate with the man.

“Sorry,” d’Artagnan finally mumbles.

“Don’t apologize,” Aramis says firmly. “Never apologize for having emotions or expressing them, unless you’ve hurt someone in the process.”

d’Artagnan nods.

“This isn’t about the cut, is it,” Aramis asks.

d’Artagnan shakes his head. “No.”

“What’s it about then?”

“You know.”

“I have a good feeling, but I can’t be sure until you tell me. Would you feel more comfortable talking with Athos or Porthos? Or Treville? Any of them would be more than willing to talk.”

“No, no,” d’Artagnan says quickly.

“Then is there someone else we can get for you to talk to?”

“Who says I need to talk about it?”

“These last three weeks, tonight,” Aramis says gently. “There’s nothing wrong with needing to talk, d’Artagnan. It’s preferable to other methods of coping. How do you think all of us survive given what we deal with daily? We may try to bottle it up, but it always comes out in a negative way. With Athos, it’s drinking, with Porthos, it’s gambling, and me, soul-sucking depression,” Aramis says, ending with a smile.

“You don’t understand, Aramis. Where I come from, the family I’m from, we don’t talk about things. You suck it up and move on.” d’Artagnan’s family are farmers, passed down from generation to generation. He is the first to break the tradition of the firstborn going into the family business.

“And how has that helped so far?”

d’Artagnan sighs.

“You’re not in Farmer City anymore, you’re a Musketeer in Chicago. You’re going to be dealing with things you never thought you’d encounter and it’s going to bring up thoughts and feelings that have to be dealt with or you’ll burn out. You won’t even make it a year. Trust me on that one.”

“I know, I know.” d’Artagnan nods. He wants to talk about what’s been going on, but it’s hard to fight his training.

They sit in silence for several minutes, d’Artagnan fighting with the urge to speak more.

“Okay, here’s what we’ll do tonight because if we stay in here all night Porthos and Athos will camp outside that door all night and I don’t want to deal with a grumpy Athos in the morning because he has a backache from sleeping on the floor.” Aramis pauses. “I understand that it’s hard to talk about your feelings. As men, we’re not trained to. But, we have to talk about these things or we’ll self-destruct and hurt the people around us as well as ourselves. So, tell me one thing that’s been bothering you. Just one thing and if you want to talk about it. If you don’t, then we’re done for now. If you do, then we’ll talk and deal with a grumpy Athos together.”

“And then what? I tell you one thing and we’re done?”

“For now. It’s a process, d’Artagnan. Do you think I recovered overnight? It was a long process, one that I’m still working through. Breaking old habits is hard. So, for now, just one thing and you decide what we’ll do with it.”

“Okay.” d’Artagnan nods, licking his lips as he thinks about what he feels like he can actually tell.

He can feel the time passing, slowly ticking away as he thinks. Fortunately, Aramis isn’t watching him. He’s re-arranging the first-aid kit.

“I don’t know where to start, ‘Mis,” he says at last, leaning his head back against the wall.

“Okay, do you mind a question then?”

“Go ahead.”

“What was on your mind when you were cutting up vegetables that made you miss and cut yourself?”

“My sociology professor stopped me after class yesterday to warn me that my participation grade is dropping,” d’Artagnan says, looking down at his hands in his lap.

“How bad?”

“Well, enough that I have to make sure I do really good on my term paper and presentation. And I have to make sure I talk more or there’s little chance of me maintaining my GPA and then Treville won’t be happy.”

“Stop right there, d’Artagnan. Don’t worry about Treville or your GPA. Now, do you want to talk about this more or leave it?”

d’Artagnan shrugs his shoulders. “Talk, I guess.”

“If you don’t want to, I won’t force it.”

“It’s just I don’t know what’s happening. It’s like it’s all collapsing around me. Everything was going well and now I can’t even keep myself afloat.”

“Stop again, d’Artagnan.” Aramis can hear the panic and worry rising again in the young man’s voice. “Let’s take a step back if you’re okay with that.”

d’Artagnan nods, sniffling as he tries to hold back tears.

“Why aren’t you talking in class? From what I hear the professors usually have to tell you to give the others a chance.”

“Lots of things.” There’s another shoulder shrug.

“Did something happen? Is it the class? Do you not have time to prepare?”

“No, I have plenty of time to prepare and it’s not the class. I just haven’t been doing the reading. I can’t. I go up to my room and try to read, but I can’t.”

“What do you do when you can’t read?”

“Sleep or try to, sometimes. Other times, I just look at stuff on the computer.”

“How long has this been going on,” Aramis asks.

“A couple weeks, maybe three. It’s gotten worse in the last week or so.”

“Since the shooting?” Aramis is cautious in his tone.

“Yeah,” d’Artagnan says, nodding as he keeps his head down.

“Do you still want to be a Musketeer?”

“Of course.”

“Then you need to talk to someone about the shooting and not brush them off.” d’Artagnan had seen their staff psychologist and had been cleared for duty, though the psychologist had reported to Treville that the young man should be kept off street duty for a while to make sure that he was mentally prepared to be back on full duty.

“I did.”

“And did you tell him the truth?”

“I was fine then. At least I thought I was,” d’Artagnan adds hesitantly.

“It takes time, sometimes, to see that something’s not right. And then when you see it, it’s hard to know what to do because you don’t know when it started or where to begin to solve it. Does that sound familiar?”

“Yeah.” d’Artagnan pauses. “So, what do I do? Other than talking with someone?”

“Do you like that psychiatrist? If you don’t, I know plenty of others that you can try,” Aramis says with a smile.

“He’s fine.”

“Good. Then Monday morning, talk to Treville about setting up an appointment.”

“What about the meantime,” d’Artagnan asks.

“You take the weekend off. No school work.”

“But I’m already behind.”

“But you’re not going to be able to focus if you don’t put yourself first. It’s not a sprint, d’Artagnan. It’s a marathon. Take the weekend, relax, talk to us, to me whenever, and get some better sleep. Then on Monday, you start working again when you’re rested and in a better headspace.”

“And that’ll work?”

“What seems insurmountable when we’re worn down and exhausted doesn’t seem so bad once we’re more rested,” Aramis says.

“Okay.” d’Artagnan nods.

“You’ll get through this and we’ll help you where ever you need or want it. Just tell us. There’ll be no judgment, no anger. Just help and support.”

“Thanks.”

“You okay for now?”

“I think so.” d’Artagnan nods.

“Good, then let’s go back out, relieve the watchdogs, and see to finishing dinner.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Farmer City is a real city. There’s one in central Illinois and when I commuted to college I drove past it nearly every single day. It was my brother’s idea to have d’Artagnan from there.


	7. An Unexpected Houseguest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Athos, Porthos, and Aramis come home to find d'Artagnan has an unexpected houseguest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, the prompt for this one was astray and I couldn't help having a little fun.

When Athos steps in the door with Porthos and Aramis he immediately senses that something is different. It’s far too quiet for d’Artagnan. He gives the other two a serious look, silently relaying his concerns about the lack of noise. As far as they all know, d’Artagnan is supposed to be home working on a term paper due tomorrow.

Then Athos hears a noise that he doesn’t believe he’s hearing, a panting, clinking of metal, and then a loud bark

“d’Artagnan,” he yells. A second later said young man comes running around the corner chasing a furry tan colored dog about two feet tall. Unsurprisingly, the dog evades d’Artagnan’s grasps and, with his tongue at the ready for licks, the dog jumps, getting all four paws off the ground onto Athos, who, under the sudden force and weight of the dog, steps back unsteadily. Porthos and Aramis move quickly to steady him as he holds the dog. d’Artagnan, wisely, skids to a halt several feet away, a guilty look on his face.

“Wh…” Athos tries to speak around the dog’s excited greeting. He has not only the dog’s tongue in his face but also the long fur getting into his mouth and tickling his skin.

“I know what you’ve said, Athos, about dogs, but he was a stray. I couldn’t just leave him on the street.” As d’Artagnan is making his case, Porthos takes the dog from Athos. Having grown up with dogs, Porthos is more than comfortable with having the medium-sized dog in his arms and the dog settles down, after some initial greeting, thanks to Porthos’ calm demeanor.

“d’Artagnan, much as I would love to keep this dog here, surely you understand that we can’t have a dog, not with our work schedules. It’s not fair to the dog,” Athos says.

“I know, but he was just sitting there on the sidewalk in the rain, shivering. I couldn’t leave him.”

“Did you check to see if he belongs to someone around here,” Aramis asks, sneaking his hand behind Athos’ to pet the dog and give it a bright smile.

“I know what you’re doing behind me, Aramis,” Athos warns. “And we’re not keeping him.”

“I just asked if d’Artagnan had looked for his owners. I said nothing about keeping him.”

“I know you better than you think I know you. And you to Porthos,” Athos adds without a glance at the man.

“He has no tags and the vet said there’s no chip,” d’Artagnan says.

“You’ve taken him to the vet already? How long have you had him here?” They were gone for a long four-day weekend for a work conference and from the sounds of it, the dog had been in the house for most of the time.

“I had to make sure he was okay,” d’Artagnan says defensively.

“How long, d’Artagnan?” Athos feels like he’s dealing with one of Treville’s kids at the moment, though they never tried to evade questions like this, except Meg of course. That was Aramis’ doing, though the man claimed it was quite unintentional.

“Friday after work.”

“We left that morning. Why have you kept him here since then?”

“Where am I supposed to take him, Athos. I don’t want to just dump him off at some shelter where he might never get adopted or worse,” d’Artagnan nearly yells back. He can’t help the rising emotions.

“We can’t keep him here,” Athos says firmly.

“Where’m I supposed to take him?”

“I know of a place,” Aramis says, taking a step forward before the arguing can continue.

“You do?” Athos and d’Artagnan speak at nearly the same time and look to Aramis.

“You’re thinking of that no-kill shelter over in Libertyville,” Porthos asks. He’s stepped forward with the dog still in his arms, now relaxed and enjoying the attention.

“Yeah, but it’s closed by now. We’ll have to wait until tomorrow morning to take him over there,” Aramis says.

“Excellent. One more night with him.” d’Artagnan looks too pleased with this news.

“You’re responsible for him,” Athos says.

d’Artagnan nods. “Of course.”

“He stays off the furniture.”

“Naturally.”

“And he sleeps in your room.”

“Not a problem,” d’Artagnan says.

“You give him a bath,” Aramis asks.

“Yeah. Friday night. He was shivering so bad and then he started smelling.”

“You did clean up after that, right,” Athos asks. d’Artagnan is a responsible young man, but he’s not known for picking up after himself.

At d’Artagnan’s long pause, Athos sighs.

“Alright, Porthos and Aramis will look after the dog for now. You’re going to clean the bathroom.”

“I thought I was supposed to look after the dog,” d’Artagnan counters.

“That is part of looking after the dog. Clean up the mess and then you can take care of him.”

“Fine,” d’Artagnan says, turning to trudge upstairs. “It’s just a dog, Athos,” he calls back, halfway up the stairs. “I don’t see why you have to be a Grinch about him.”

“Isn’t it enough that I’ve already taken three strays in,” Athos says, a lilt in his usually flat voice. “I can’t afford to take in a fourth.” He smiles and turns to pet the dog in Porthos’ arms. “Let’s get him fed and then when d’Artagnan’s done we’ll be able to go out back and play with him for a while.”


	8. The Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmas and the Trevilles are at Athos' house celebrating with the four brothers. d'Artagnan notices that something's off with Athos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't happy with this story when it was posted the other day. I'm still not thrilled with it, but here it is.

In years past, Christmas was done was the Treville’s. The one exception was the year following Aramis’ joining the group. Then it was held at Athos’ house. This year it is also being held at Athos’ thanks to d’Artagnan and Aramis still recovering, both mentally and physically, from their encounter with a couple of serial killers.

Treville and co. arrive around 9am with bags of packages and food in tow. Sarah and Treville, after reminding the children to be careful around d’Artagnan and Aramis, leave to help Porthos prepare breakfast in the kitchen. Their routine is set. First breakfast, no matter the children’s complaints, then presents. This year there are few complaints as the children haven’t seen much of their two injured uncles lately, save for their usual mall adventure, which proved a bit tricky, but they managed it with a lot of breaks and some ibuprofen followed by a lot of sleep and a couple days off work.

They are both doing better now, but are still plagued with coughs that rattle their broken ribs as well as having the remaining aches and pains from other injuries. When breakfast is ready, Athos and Porthos help them into the dining room, where Sarah and Treville have laid out the array of food. The injured men are sandwiched between Porthos and Athos, who help them to reach the food and cut it, if needed. Some of d’Artagnan’s fingers are still healing, making cutting food difficult and Aramis doesn’t have much range of motion with his shoulder yet.

Halfway through the meal, amidst the chatter of the Treville children, d’Artagnan notices Athos uncharacteristically playing with his food instead of eating. He nudges Aramis gently, wary of the ribs, until he gets the man’s attention. Then he points to Athos.

“He’ll be fine, d’Artagnan,” Aramis says. “Just leave him be.”

“Are you sure? Something seems wrong.”

“Yes. This happens sometimes and he doesn’t like attention drawn to it.”

d’Artagnan isn’t sure but opts to defer to Aramis’ judgment. The man has known Athos for longer. d’Artagnan joined the Musketeers back in June, right after graduation, and is still a cadet, working his way through training. 

It’s little surprise to any of them that the kids rush through breakfast, sitting anxiously as the adults take their time in eating. d’Artagnan and Aramis each finish relatively soon. It’s nothing new for them lately. Their wounds and illnesses quickly take their toll making them both tired and nauseous. Porthos has taken to making them small meals during the day to help them keep up their strength.

Athos is the last eating, even though it’s been some time since he actually took a bite.

“Are you finished eating, Athos,” Aramis asks. “I think the bandage on my shoulder has come loose. Do you mind helping me get it fixed?”

“Where’s the sling,” Treville asks.

“It’s just off for the morning. I took a shower and hadn’t put it back on.”

“Let’s go get it fixed,” Athos says with a tired sigh. “We’ll get your sling as well.”

“I can take care of it,” Treville says.

“No, it’s fine. If you could just hand him his crutch.”

Treville hands off the crutch, watching as Aramis gets himself situated. The young man is lucky that the placement of his injuries still allows him to get around on a crutch instead of a wheelchair. Once the two are off in the downstairs bathroom, Treville gets the others to help clean up. d’Artagnan tries to stack a few plates to help before Sarah takes him back to the living room to rest. On the way there, he hears Athos and Aramis talking in the bathroom. He can’t make out quite what they’re saying, but their voices are raised some. Sarah ushers him along before he can do anything more, but as he sits in the living room, he wonders what was going on. Maybe Aramis injured himself worse and Athos was scolding him. It wouldn’t be the first time Aramis set himself back with injuries this time. Or maybe Athos was too rough in rebandaging the shoulder injury and Aramis got mad. Whatever it was, when they come out of the bathroom and join the group assembled in the living room, they show no signs of having argued.

Treville and Sarah sit on the floor with the kids. Athos sits near the edge of the pile of presents, while Porthos is on the couch in between d’Artagnan and Aramis, ready to help them. Without preamble, Athos starts handing out the gifts, going first for the children’s, then ones for his three brothers. He quietly stacks ones he finds for himself off to the side, waiting until everyone is engaged in their own unwrapping before he opens one for himself.

“Hey, Athos,” d’Artagnan calls out. “You’ve got to unwrap something.”

Athos pauses when he hears d’Artagnan. Then, when he feels all of the eyes turn on him, Aramis speaks.

“Cool,” the younger man says loudly, wincing slightly as the action pulls on his ribs. “You got me the drill bits I needed. Who got me this?” He fumbles loudly with the paper, searching for the tag. “Treville and Sarah, thank you for the drill bits. These will be used in my next project. What do you have there, Meg,” he calls out.

“Duplo,” she answers, awkwardly holding up the box.

“Who got you it? Do you remember?”

“Ath.” She happily points to the man sitting by the tree. From what Aramis can see he’s looking calmer now. “I asked Santa for it though.”

“Well, Santa was quite busy, so he sent us a list of things to get so we’d know exactly what to get you,” Athos answers. Aramis asks the other children what they got and eventually, the scene returns to one of passing out presents and opening them. Athos takes a moment to open a couple, carefully pulling off the paper.

“Thank you, Captain,” he says, glad that Treville is sitting next to him. “I’ll have something to read while keeping an eye on those two.” He points over to the couch, where d’Artagnan and Aramis are busy unwrapping with one good hand each. Porthos is restraining himself from jumping in.

“I saw the next one had come out and knew you’d probably been too busy to go out yourself,” Treville answers. Athos is a fan of mystery novels and has been caught up in a recent series that often lands on the bestseller list.

Athos is sure to keep the piles of presents full for the others. Most of them are for the kids, who show the appropriate level of excitement and joy over each and every gift. Meg is the loudest and easily draws the most attention.

“How’s it going, Athos,” d’Artagnan calls out. “Did you want Porthos to trade off so you have time to unwrap?”

“No, thank you, d’Artagnan,” Athos says blandly. “I’m fine down here.”

“Remember you have to show us what you’ve gotten.”

“Awesome,” Aramis calls out. “How’d you find those spices, Athos. I’ve been asking around everywhere looking for them. I know what I’m making tonight.”

“You’re banned from the kitchen until you no longer need help going to the bathroom,” Athos deadpans. “And you’re welcome, ‘Mis. It was no trouble finding them.”

“Aramis, would you stop distracting Athos from opening presents,” d’Artagnan says, annoyance clear in his voice.

“He’s fine, d’Artagnan,” Athos says quickly.

“This is normal Aramis at Christmas time,” Porthos says. “Always the loud one, louder than the kids sometimes.”

“Can I help it if I like to express my gratitude loudly,” Aramis says.

“You could do it a little quieter and not distract people.” d’Artagnan is still irritated.

“Leave it,” Athos says firmly. “You’ve still got a few presents there, d’Artagnan. Why don’t you get busy working on those? At the rate you and Aramis are going it’s going to be New Year’s by the time you’re done.”

d’Artagnan grumbles, but goes back to his gifts, having learned quickly when Athos means to drop a subject. The children are done unwrapping and have already gotten into their toys as the adults are working through the last of their gifts.

Athos is pleased he’s timed things well that he is done unwrapping by the time the others are. The last gift was from d’Artagnan.

“Thank you, d’Artagnan,” he says. “Once you two can get downstairs safely, we’ll have to go test this new cue stick out.”

“I thought you’d like it. I judged based on the one you have down there,” d’Artagnan says.

“It feels like a good fit.” Athos pauses, looking around at the mess of paper. “I’m going to go get a box to start piling this paper into.” When he leaves the room, d’Artagnan looks to Porthos and Aramis. Both see the confusion and hurt on his face.

“Let’s go into the den,” Porthos says, rising to help d’Artagnan to his feet.

“I’ll talk to him,” Aramis says, already fishing awkwardly for his crutch. Treville quickly steps in to help before Aramis can injure himself further, again.

“Are you sure,” Porthos asks. He’s steadying d’Artagnan while the young man gets himself settled on the single crutch.

“I got it.”

“Are you sure Athos wants you to?”

“I told him this would probably come up. Let’s go, d’Artagnan.” Aramis takes an unsteady step forward. Treville puts a hand out to keep him from falling.

“Are you sure you can,” Treville asks.

“It’s just a matter of getting my land legs back, right d’Artagnan?”

“Yeah,” d’Artagnan grumbles.

“Let’s go then, to the den.” There’s an adventurous tone to Aramis’ voice that the others can’t help but laugh at, except for d’Artagnan. He works to maintain his irritated face. The rest of the short journey is silent, save for the clicking of crutches and occasional grunts from the men as they forced their bodies to move. Just when they’re in the den, Athos comes out into the hall.

“You okay with me talking to him, Athos,” Aramis calls out.

“Yes,” Athos answers.

“Do you want to come in?”

“Do you need help?” Athos sees the two men straining to keep upright.

“I think we’re good. What do you think d’Artagnan?”

“Let’s just go get this talk done with,” d’Artagnan says angrily.

“Be careful,” Athos says. “And send a text when you’re done. We’ll come help you two back.”

Aramis nods and waits for d’Artagnan to enter. He follows the young man and shuts the door most of the way.

“So what’s this big thing you have to talk with me about?” d’Artagnan does his best to turn around dramatically, but it’s a rather slow and awkward movement that takes away any of the drama.

“You want to sit,” Aramis asks.

“Just tell me, Aramis. Tell me that I got him the wrong thing. The wrong type or something.” d’Artagnan leans against the wall, mindful of the still sore scars on his back.

“Why would you think you got him the wrong gift?” Aramis hobbles closer to the young man.

“You saw how he looked, how he sounded. And then he could hardly wait to get out of there.”

“d’Artagnan, think back over the last six months you’ve been on the task force. Other than when one of us does something incredibly stupid, when has Athos ever shown a lick of emotion?” Aramis readjusts his single crutch awkwardly, trying to find the least painful way to stand.

d’Artagnan is silent as he thinks, going back over his time as a cadet. In all of the six months, he’s never once seen Athos be emotional, unless, as Aramis said, one of them did something stupid. Then you just had to hope he’d calm down before he got to you.

“Athos doesn’t express a wide range of emotions,” Aramis says. “He calls it a flat affect. It’s not that he didn’t like your gift, d’Artagnan. He actually liked it a lot. He can’t wait until we’re well enough to go down and try it out.”

“How could you tell that? He said that like he was reporting the weather.”

“Time, d’Artagnan. The longer you’re around him, the better you’ll get. Porthos is a master at reading Athos. Athos doesn’t even have to speak and he can figure out what he’s saying.”

“So why didn’t he just tell me,” d’Artagnan asks, he shifts as he tries to ease the pressure on his back and leg.

“He hates times like these. Public displays of gifts. Around those he’s familiar with, comfortable with, it’s a little easier, but it’s still very much anxiety producing. So, the less attention we can draw to him, the better.”

“That’s why you kept interrupting?”

“It’s my deal with him. I make enough noise, when needed, to distract attention from him.” Aramis swallows at a wave of pain that shoots up from his knee.

“And what does he do?”

“You’ll find out soon.”

“Was it worse because I’m new,” d’Artagnan asks after a pause.

“I don’t think so.”

“But you said he’s fine around people he’s comfortable with.”

“And he’s comfortable with you. Even around his family he’s awkward when it comes to unwrapping things. His parents came for his birthday one year and that was just the same. It’s part of the reason we don’t do much for birthdays around here.”

“So, I didn’t make it worse?”

“No, you didn’t,” Athos says, opening the door. “It’s a normal quirk of me.”

“I’m sorry I kept drawing attention to you. I hope I didn’t make it a terrible Christmas for you.”

“It was a good morning. I’m sorry I didn’t let you know beforehand.”

“Is that what you two were arguing about in the bathroom,” d’Artagnan asks.

“No,” Aramis says. “He didn’t want me to play my part this year. Thought it might be too much for my body.”

“And it was, I could see it then and can now. You need to lie down after you take some ibuprofen,” Athos says.

“Athos, it doesn’t matter how hurt I am, I’d always do this for you so you can enjoy Christmas as much as we do,” Aramis says, holding back a wince when his crutch shifts under him.

“I know, but I wish you wouldn’t cause yourself pain to ease mine. But thank you, brother.”

“Anytime.”

“Now, let’s get you two back in the living room. You’ve got the couch, Mis. d’Artagnan, we’ll put you on the love seat. It’s bed rest, ice, and ibuprofen for the both of you for the rest of the day.”

“Yes, mother hen,” Aramis says, his voice a mirthful droning tone.


	9. Echoes of Thomas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Athos goes to visit Thomas' grave and takes Aramis with. A conversation ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place during Aramis’ first year with Athos, Porthos, and Treville, so he’s still in the early recovery stages.
> 
> Please note there is some mention of a drug overdose and suicide in here. It’s nothing graphic. I’m not sure if it needs to be noted, but there is a minor character who is asexual.

Athos isn’t sure why he brought Aramis out here. He should’ve left the young man with Sarah. Porthos is at work because it is a Wednesday after all. That, in fact, is where he should be too, but it’s a standing tradition on June 13 to come here, to have one more day with Thomas. Treville schedules him the day off without question now.

He took Aramis to his counseling appointment, then drove around the cemetery a half dozen times before the young man asked what was going on.

“Stop, Athos,” he says, his voice rough with disuse. Aramis is still not talkative and is especially less so after a counseling session. He has three, hour-long sessions a week with just the counselor and then a single two-hour group session on Thursdays. Aramis tells them little about what’s going on, but they do get weekly updates during a half-hour meeting with the counselor, Aramis, and whoever takes him. “What’re you doing?”

“I…” Athos hesitates.

“We’ve circled this cemetery six times. Are we going to visit whoever is there or not?”

Athos can’t help his look of shock. They’re never sure how aware Aramis is of his surroundings, especially after a session.

“I’m depressed, Athos, not stupid. Park and let’s go.”

“I wasn’t sure…”

“If it’d trigger me,” Aramis cuts him off harshly. “Everything does, so park and let’s go visit that grave site”

Athos doesn’t say anything more as he finds a spot on the side of the road to park. Aramis’ tone is quite different, unexpected and more abrasive than he’d expected from the man.

They make the trek past the other tombstones to Thomas’ in silence, Athos leading the way as Aramis walks several feet behind him, back to his quiet brooding. When Athos stops at the grave, Aramis stops and meanders until he’s a several yards away. He keeps his back turned, staring off into something that Athos can only wonder about.

There’s a bit of awkwardness this time because he has company. He’s never been at the grave with anyone outside of the funeral. Porthos has offered to come, but this is something he’s always preferred to do alone. And now, he is struck with a strange thought as he looks at the tombstone, Aramis’ presence a somewhat blurry figure in the distance. These two men are the same age, were the same age. The tenses are mixed up in his mind, but there’s a startling clarity in the thought regardless.

“You know people normally talk when they come to a grave.” Aramis’ low voice startles him. When did the man sneak up next to him?

“That’s pointless.”

“It’s therapeutic,” Aramis counters with a wry smile.

“Someone tell you to do that?” Athos doesn’t look at Aramis, keeping his eyes trained on the haunting dates on the tombstone.

“Yeah, but why would any of them want to listen to the man who got them killed?” Aramis shrugs his shoulders. Athos lets the comment go. They’ve learned the battles they have to fight right away and which ones they’re in for the long term. The massacre is a long-term fight. Keeping him alive isn’t, even more so, Athos thinks, now that he’s here looking at Thomas.

“Younger brother,” Aramis asks.

“Yes. We were close. He always wanted to do everything I did,” Athos answers numbly, remembering how Thomas always followed him around, asking him question after question. “I remember when I first started shaving, he sat in the bathroom watching until I let him shave. I don’t think he even had a single hair on his chin. He cut himself more times than not it seemed, but he was proud to have shaved just like me.” Athos can’t help the bittersweet tone and slight smile at the memory.

After a pause, Aramis speaks. “I tried that with my older sisters. Never have lived it down. I had the smoothest legs on my soccer team, though.” Athos looks over to Aramis, seeing a real smile for the first time. It lingers in the young man’s eyes for a few seconds and Athos thinks that he’s seeing the real Aramis here for once. “I haven’t seen them in such a long time, it feels like. They came to visit me, but I wasn’t really there, not like I should’ve been.” And then despair is back in an instant.

They stand in silence for a while longer, the sun ticking further past them.

“He was a young man,” Aramis says.

“Yes. Should’ve been a junior in college when he died, but he dropped out the year before.” Athos is back to staring at the dates.

“What happened, if you don’t mind me asking?” Amidst the sadness that seems to always fill Aramis’ voice, Athos can detect some concern there. It’s strange, not because he thought the man incapable, but certainly not now, in the depths of his own misery.

“I… I was married,” he starts off with some hesitancy.

“And he didn’t like it?”

“No. He was happy for me, but he got caught up in her secret life, unbeknownst to us.”

Aramis waits for Athos to continue.

“He started doing drugs his freshman year of college and by midway through his sophomore year, he dropped out to work for her. When I found out he was doing drugs, I tried to get him into rehab and he went a couple times, but he always found his way back to her.” Athos pauses, taking a deep breath before continuing.

“She claims that he came onto her, tried to seduce her, but she rejected him because she was too in love with me. Hours later, she says, he killed himself with a fatal overdose.”

“You don’t sound sure.”

Athos pauses, unsure if he should explain further. This was a secret Thomas trusted with family and just the immediate. No grandparents, uncles, aunts, or cousins had an inkling. But, Athos thinks, Thomas and Aramis probably would’ve got along well and maybe Thomas won’t mind him sharing the secret with his new brother.

“Thomas was asexual. He had no interest in men or women. It was never public knowledge, but I know that he suffered a lot with the pressures of being different in the highly sexualized environments of college and Greek life. When he was in school, at home, he would talk to me, but that stopped when he got to college. I can only imagine the pressures he felt there. I know it got worse when he joined a fraternity.” Athos sighs, feeling the old regrets coming back easily.

“The stress and loneliness would’ve been unbearable,” Aramis says, voice a touch hollow. “Did you say anything?”

“Our parents know, but I know that Thomas wouldn’t want it public knowledge. He wasn’t embarrassed, but he didn’t want the ridicule. He already took enough by being a virgin and never having dated. No one would’ve understood. The people who matter know the truth, that’s what he always told me.”

“Sometimes that’s not enough though,” Aramis says quietly.

“No, sometimes it’s not.”

“Is that what ended your marriage?”

“It was over shortly after it started, really. She never understood my depression, the moods. His death was just the final straw, the one thing I could do for him other than helping Treville to take down the drug ring she ran.”

“And that’s how you became a Musketeer.”

“Sort of,” Athos says.

“How then?”

“That’s a story for another time,” Athos says. “Let’s head back to the car.”

“Are you sure you’re done?”

“Yes. Let’s go. Maybe we’ll get some ice cream on the way home.” They’re still doing what they can to get some weight on Aramis. The young man doesn’t like eating, so he’s still just under his minimum weight range. His doctor wants him back at his normal weight before he can start working out and regaining his muscle.

“We would’ve been the same age,” Aramis says when they’re back in the car.

“Yeah.” Athos puts the key in the ignition and then stops. “You know that you can come to us with anything, right?”

“I’m not Thomas, Athos.”

“I know, but you do know that anything. It doesn’t matter what, day or night, you can come to us. There won’t be any judgments or anger. Even if we’re sound asleep or busy doing something, you can come to us.”

“You all have made that quite clear,” Aramis says.

“We’ve told you it, but do you believe it?”

Aramis pauses, looking down as he plays with the sleeves of his long-sleeved shirt. “I want to, Athos. I really do. I know it’s been months and anyone else would’ve said of course by now, but I can’t. It’s not that easy.”

“I know. I know.” Athos sighs. “Give us a chance though because no matter how you feel about us, know that losing you would devastate us. I know that Treville and Sarah see you as their son and Porthos and I are close to seeing you as our brother. You have people who care deeply about you. Give us a chance to prove that.”

Aramis nods, sniffling a few errant tears away. He rubs at his eyes with a hand, trying to stop the tears before they get going. “I will.”

“That’s all I ask,” Athos says. “Now, how about some ice cream. Some of the good stuff from that little shop downtown.”

“Sure.” Aramis nods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The decision to write Thomas as asexual was one that came in the middle of writing because I wanted clear closure for Athos and his family. I’ve been rewatching the first season for the Muskies Rewatch and one of the things that has always annoyed me is the lack of closure on the Thomas storyline. I hope it works for those reading.


	10. For the Kids

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Porthos and Athos wake up to find Aramis busy in the kitchen baking but something's wrong with his baking frenzy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place a full year after Aramis has shown up on Treville’s doorstep. He’s through the worst of his illnesses and back to work, but he’s still not 100% yet.

When Porthos wakes around 10 am and wanders downstairs, Athos calls him into the den before he gets too far.

“What’s wrong,” he asks, noticing that Athos is still in his robe and looks like he hasn’t slept much.

“It’s Aramis,” Athos says quietly.

“He’s not baking, is he?” After getting off work yesterday afternoon, Aramis started baking for the Boys and Girls Club bake sale. Around 2 am they finally managed to get him to bed. He was tired and had managed to burn a tray of cookies, but was still trying to push on. This was on top of a week of prepping dough and freezing it to bake later. Porthos barely had had space this week to get dinner together.

“He got up sometime during the night. I woke up about 5am and found him in there baking away.”

“He had enough to feed an army midweek. What’s he thinking? Have you been able to talk with him?”

“All he says is that he’s fine and then goes back to work.” Athos shrugs his shoulders.

“But he’s clearly not.” They’ve been doing their best to keep an eye on him this week, making sure that he remains steady even as he bakes away.

“Yeah.” Porthos nods. “Did you talk with Treville?”

“His best guess was ours. Thought maybe Aramis should see Lemay about it.” They’d gone through several psychiatrists for Aramis, none of them being a good fit for the man. He either refused to tell them everything or the plans they gave him didn’t work for him. Lemay had been their last chance and Aramis had taken a quick liking to him and his approach.

Given Aramis’ situation, Lemay has also offered to be available for house calls and talking by phone. These are intended more as emergency services but they have already made use of the offer a number of times. The only requirement Lemay has is that, unless it is a life-threatening situation or Aramis is unable to himself, none of them can make the call for Aramis. The young man himself must reach out to Lemay for help. Part of their sessions is training Aramis to recognize when he’s in too deep and needs help to find his way back out.

“He’s not going to call Lemay himself,” Porthos says.

“Then we need to convince him that he needs to,” Athos counters. “He can’t keep going like this.”

“No, he can’t, but I don’t relish the idea of talking to him about this.”

“I can go in alone, if you want,” Athos offers.

“No, no. I’ll help. I just know this isn’t going to end well and I hate being the ones to put him there.”

“He’s going to bake himself into exhaustion if we let him go and then it’ll be worse.” Athos pauses. “We can call Treville in for help if you want.”

“No, we can’t keep relying on him. He has his own family.”

“Aramis is a part of his family. He’d come here in a heartbeat.”

“And that’s why we can’t call him,” Porthos says. “Him and Sarah are taking the kids to the Shedd Aquarium today. I’m not going to interrupt their day and Aramis would feel terrible if we did.”

“Then, let’s get in there and tackle this situation ourselves. The sooner we get him talked down, the sooner we can start to get him back on track.”

Stepping foot into the kitchen, Porthos is surprised by what he sees. There are several containers of cookies, brownies, cupcakes, and more stacked to the side in neat rows. On the island are a few cooling rack stackable sets with an array of cookies on them. The mixer is going on the counter with containers of flours, nuts, dried fruits, sugars, and chocolates covering the counters. The counters are sprinkled with some of each from these containers. At the island, Aramis is bent over, carefully piping icing on a sugar cookie. He hasn’t taken note of their arrival.

From what Porthos can see of Aramis, the young man is still wearing the sweats and t-shirt they wrangled him into last night. His hair is disheveled, to say the least, sticking up in areas and looking rather unkempt. There’s a familiar shake in Aramis’ hands, one that keeps the young man cursing and pausing.

“How’s it going, ‘Mis,” Porthos asks, loud enough to be heard over the noise of the mixer.

Aramis looks up, startled. “Porthos,” he says, a weak smile on his face. “Things are good. I’m making progress.” He goes back to icing.

“When do you think you’ll be done,” Athos asks. He and Porthos are standing on the edges of the kitchen. They don’t want to make Aramis feel crowded or pressured.

“I’ve got about a half dozen more types of cookies to make, a couple more batches of cupcakes and brownies each, and then some hand pies. That, of course, doesn’t count the decorating. That itself could take me the rest of the weekend.”

“The bake sale is tomorrow, Aramis,” Porthos says.

“I know, I know and I’m working as fast as I can to get this all done.” Aramis turns to shut off the mixer, cursing when he looks inside. “Left it to mix too long.” He yanks the bowl from the mixer and goes to empty the contents into the bin.

“There will be other people bringing things. You don’t have to make all of this.”

“I know, I know. But it’s not a problem. I want to do everything I can for the kids.” Aramis is vigorously washing out the bowl, water splashing onto him and on the counter around the sink.

“This is more than enough. They’ll never sell it all.” Porthos takes a few steps forward.

“Maybe, maybe not. You never know, there might be a rush. Things happen that we don’t expect,” Aramis rambles as he starts measuring out ingredients into the now cleaned and dried mixing bowl. His movements are sloppy from lack of sleep and his shaky hands, meaning that more lands on the counters and floor at times than in the bowl. Still, he moves undeterred.

Porthos and Athos share a look as the man works, each holding back a sigh. They have to push more, get more direct. Neither are looking forward to it.

“Aramis, you need to stop,” Athos says.

“What?” Aramis turns quickly, losing his balance a bit as his socked feet lose traction in the flour sprinkled floor. “Why?” He gives them a puzzled, hurt look.

“You’ve baked more than enough,” Porthos says. “You’re exhausted. You need to get some rest. Athos and I will clean up in here.” He takes another step forward, standing now at the opposite end of the island than Aramis.

“No, I’m fine. I’m feeling good. Plenty of energy to keep going.” He pulls himself up, straightening his shoulders and goes back to work.

“Aramis.” Porthos closes the distance between him and Aramis. “Aramis,” he says again. “You have to stop. There’s no need to keep baking.”

“Yes, yes there is.” Aramis leaves the bowl partly attached and backs away from Porthos, returning to his careful piping of the cookies.

“Why?” Athos takes a few steps forward, making sure to leave Aramis plenty of space. He looks to Porthos, silently telling him to stay put.

“Because I need to help the kids. I have to help them out,” Aramis mutters.

“They have plenty of help already. You’ve done enough. You can stop,” Porthos says, voice firm but gentle.

“No. No.” Aramis drops the icing bag and goes to check the oven. “There’s never enough that can be done. Can’t fail them. Can’t fail the kids, again.” When he goes to pull out the pan in the oven without an oven mitt, Athos jumps into action, pulling the young man away. Their feet get tangled in each other and both tumble to the floor, limbs smacking harshly on the tile as neither are prepared for the fall.

Aramis quickly disentangles himself and leaps up to get the pan. Porthos sees it in time to reach in with an oven mitt on his own and grab the pan out, but it still catches Aramis’ bare hands on the way out. When Aramis yelps in shock, Porthos nearly drops the pan but gets it safely to a cooling rack on the island. Meanwhile, Athos has shut the oven door and Aramis is quickly sinking to the floor again, leaning against the cupboards.

By the time they settle down on either side of him, making sure that they’re gently pressed against him, he’s laid his head on his arms, which are crossed and balanced on his bent knees. There’s a familiar sound of his heavy breathing as he tried to hold his emotions in check. He’s better now with his emotions, but he still has bad days and days like today where events align to wreck that precarious control.

They wait as he works to calm himself, sniffling a few times as the expected tears come. Athos put a gentle hand on the man’s neck to comfort him as he goes through his usual stages.

“How’re your hands,” Porthos asks, when Aramis seems to have finally calmed.

“Is that what you really want to ask?” There’s a touch of anger in Aramis’ voice.

“Yes.” Porthos keeps his voice calm. He knows they’ve pushed Aramis to his limit and that the young man is not happy with them. “How are your hands? Did I catch them badly with that pan?”

“No,” Aramis says, voice muffled by his position. “You didn’t. They’re just a touch sore.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It was an accident, Porthos.”

“Not just for that.”

“Oh.” Aramis looks up at Porthos.

“I’m sorry, as well,” Athos says. “But you know that we had to do it.”

“Yes and no. I’m just trying to help those kids.”

“Which kids?”

“The ones who need my help.”

Porthos and Athos remain quiet.

“Fuck,” Aramis says quietly, leaning his head against the cabinets. “I didn’t… I don’t… I’m never going to be free of that, am I?”

Porthos looks to see that while Aramis’ eyes are closed, the tears have started again. There’s a familiar look of despair in his expression.

“It takes time, ‘Mis,” Porthos says, massaging Aramis’ shoulder with his hand. “You’ve made a lot of progress, but it’s not going to all be over in the blink of an eye.”

“But everything had been going well. No flashbacks, panic attacks for a month, and now this.” He bangs his head against the cabinet in frustration.

“Don’t do that,” Athos says, putting a hand up between Aramis’ head and the cabinet. “Come here.” He encourages the younger man to lean against him. Their near equal height makes it awkward, but they make it work out of months of practice. Porthos moves himself around to sit in front of Aramis and Athos. Again, this is a well-practiced arrangement.

“Lemay said that you would have minor setbacks, little hiccups on your road to recovery. It’s a marathon, Aramis. As tired as you are of hearing that, you have to keep that in mind.” Porthos sets his hands on Aramis’ bent knees as he talks gently to the younger man. He is sure to keep Aramis’ gaze in his own.

“I know.” Aramis wipes his running nose with his shirt. “I just want to be back to normal. I want this to just go away.” He tucks in closer to Athos.

“I’m sorry, ‘Mis,” Athos says. He is rubbing a hand on Aramis’ back to try to comfort him. “You know there’s no going back to who you were. I won’t say that you’re better for what you’re dealing with. Only you can decide that. But you are getting better. These little setbacks are just that, little. A few months ago you weren’t even doing any baking and if something like this had happened, it would’ve taken hours to pull you out of it.”

“And, what’s more, you saw it yourself without us pointing it out,” Porthos says.

“And then I collapsed in a heap of tears,” Aramis counters.

“You’re human. Humans cry when shitty things happen.” Porthos shrugs his shoulders. Aramis chuckles, face crinkly with dried tears.

They sit in silence for a while, enjoying each other’s company.

“I guess I have to call Lemay, don’t I,” Aramis says quietly.

“That’s up to you. You know we can’t make that decision,” Athos says.

Aramis pauses, thinking. “I should at least talk to him on the phone. Maybe see if he wants to make a house call.”

“You have your phone,” Porthos asks.

“In my pocket.” Aramis fishes out the phone, still keeping his spot on Athos. As he finds the phone number and waits on it to dial he says, “I hate setbacks.”


	11. A Good Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aramis struggles to accept how he's changed after the massacre. Porthos does his best to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one takes place after Aramis' second suicide attempt, the one where Athos' discovered him and had his own breakdown.

A couple hours after Athos brings Aramis back from his latest counseling session, Porthos finds him down by the lake, about a half mile from home. He’s the only one down there, which isn’t surprising given the chill that’s coming off the lake. Still, he finds Aramis sitting in the sand, legs drawn up and bent at the knees, staring out towards the horizon. 

“Hey, Aramis,” he says, sitting down next to the man.

Aramis nods but doesn’t respond.

“We’ve been looking for you.”

“Sorry,” Aramis says quietly.

“You need to at least write a note when you go somewhere.” Porthos tries to keep his voice even.

“Sorry.” It’s a more broken this time.

“It’s okay, we’re just worried about where you went. It’s not the best weather to be outside, especially down here.” There is rain threatening in the distance and ahead of it a cool wind. The morning started out warm in the seventies and it’s already down into the fifties and forecast to go lower before the sun sets.

“It’s thinking weather,” Aramis says after a pause. 

“Rain and cold are thinking weather?” Porthos looks at Aramis, who’s still not looked away from the lake. He’s better rested and healthier than he has been, but there’s still some ways to go. The worst is the look of despair that is ever-present on his face. Porthos has seen it on Athos in the past and he doesn’t like it on either man. 

It’s been a month since Aramis’ last suicide attempt, the one where Athos found him and had a breakdown of his own not long after that they nearly missed. In that time, they’ve finally found a psychiatrist, Frank Lemay, who Aramis likes. The month has been filled with improvement but also a lot of angst and anxiety. He’s out of the critical suicide watch period, but Porthos still feels like they’re living on the edge. 

“You want to talk about it,” Porthos asks when Aramis is silent for several moments. Lemay has spoken to all of them, Athos, Treville, Sarah, and him, about techniques and tips for helping Aramis through his rough patches when he can’t get out of them himself. As much as Porthos is accustomed to working with Athos when he hit’s a low period, Aramis is a different story and Porthos is glad to have more of a toolkit of what to do. The easiest, and one the comes naturally to him is talking. 

Aramis shakes his head lightly.

“You want to talk to Athos about it? He could be down here in a few minutes.” Porthos knows that Aramis often talks to Athos about his illnesses because he understands at a level that helps Aramis more. Porthos is often left to standard clichés that do little but annoy Aramis.

“No,” Aramis says with a small smile. 

They sit in silence for a while longer, Porthos forcing himself to not speak. He knows that his tendency to speak has, in the past, unsettled Aramis and made him back away.

“Did something happen at your session,” Porthos asks, shivering as a cool breeze rakes over them. He sees Aramis hug his legs tighter, curling in against the wind. “Do you mind?” Porthos holds an arm out, indicating that he wants to pull Aramis closer to him.

Aramis shrugs his shoulders, but leans in towards Porthos, feeling the warmth of the larger man against his body. It’s a comforting feeling and he hadn’t realized how cold he was. 

“Lemay says I need to start to accept the new me,” Aramis says quietly. “He says that’s holding me back right now.”

“And what do you think about that?”

Aramis pauses. “I liked the old me just as well. I didn’t think there was anything seriously wrong with the old me. I never did anything illegal or wrong. I never hurt anyone except those kids and my teammates.”

“You didn’t hurt them,” Porthos says firmly, but calmly. 

Aramis doesn’t say anything to that, which in itself is progress. 

“I just want to be who I was, not who I am now.” Aramis’ leans more into Porthos, his voice low and sad.

They lapse into silence again.

“Would you do any of those things now,” Porthos asks.

“What things?” Aramis shifts to look up at Porthos.

“Illegal things. Hurting people?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then that’s something that’s still the same. You don’t want to do criminal things. You don’t want to hurt others.” Porthos keeps his voice calm and steady.

“It’s a bit more than that, Porthos.”

“I know, but there are some things that haven’t changed.”

“Always looking on the positive side, aren’t you,” Aramis says with a slight smile.

“Not always, but I try.” Porthos pulls Aramis in a little closer and curls in some on himself when another cold wind burst hits. They should be heading home, but Porthos is loathed to disturb Aramis’ relative peace as well as his thoughts.

“I’m tired of all of this, Porthos,” Aramis says after a few moments. “I hate that the slightest thing triggers me to a flashback or panic attack. I hate feeling so depressed and hurting so much that being dead sounds a lot better. I don’t want to hurt anymore, Porthos.” Aramis takes a breath and Porthos can hear the wetness. “I don’t like this new me.” Porthos takes hold of Aramis with both arms as he leans into him more. Aramis is more in his lap now with his head against Porthos’ chest. Porthos can feel his shirt getting wet as Aramis quietly cries. 

He waits, thinks. He’s had little experience with things such as these. Being held captive by criminals he and Athos were investigating a few years ago had changed him some, left him with the occasional flashback and nightmare, but he didn’t find himself a wholly different person after. 

“I…,” Porthos hesitates as he contemplates what to say. What could he say to ease his friend’s suffering? “I don’t know what to say, Aramis. I could say you’re getting better. That you won’t always feel this way. But what good will that do you now? You’ve heard it all half a million times and most of them from me.”

Aramis remains quiet.

“Personally, I don’t see anything not to like about the new you. Now, this isn’t taking into account your illnesses because they aren’t you. You’re not defined by them. I can say, I see a young man who is hard-working, kind, considerate, well-liked, and compassionate. You think far less of yourself than you should and you doubt yourself far more than you need. You’re the kind of person I’d like to count as a brother and I don’t welcome just anyone into my family. Ask Athos.” Porthos pauses, looking out at the lake.

“You’re a good man, Aramis, and I’ll tell it to you every day, twice a day until you believe it with your heart,” Porthos says, straining to hold back his own tears. 

“Both of us will, Aramis,” Athos says, kneeling in front of Porthos. Aramis and Porthos jump at the sudden noise. “We’ll be here to always remind you that you’re a good man and worthy until you can do it yourself and even then we’ll remind you because there will be times when you need to hear it again.” Athos runs a hand through Aramis’ hair, ruffling it in a way he knows soothes him.

After a long moment, Aramis frees himself from Porthos’ grasp and leans back on his legs. He shivers in the cold. “Why?”

“Why what,” Porthos asks. He takes the jacket Athos hands him, putting it on and watches as Athos wraps a blanket around Aramis. It’s his favorite one and Porthos knows that Athos realized Aramis would be more likely to wrap up in that than put a jacket on.

“You two barely know me. It hasn’t even been a year since we met. Why are you willing to make these promises? How can you put such trust and faith in me that I’ll remain a good enough person to be worthy of your friendship?”

“Well, for starters,” Porthos beings, “we don’t have the trust issues that you justifiably do. It’s easier for us. And it helps that you have a set of good character references in Sarah and Treville.”

Aramis chuckles lightly at that, pulling the blanket in tighter.

“We’ve also seen you at your worst, ‘Mis and it’s hard to remain a good, decent person when you’re at your worst,” Athos says. 

“And some of it is a leap of faith. Making friends comes down to a leap of faith. Sometimes it’s worth it and other times you get burned. But I don’t think this is one of those times. It’s been ten months and I think it’s completely worth it,” Porthos says.

“Me too,” Athos adds. “Even with everything that you’re going through and the help you’re needing now, it’s worth it.”

“I want to believe it. All of it. That I can fully trust you two. That I’m a good man. That I should like the new me.” Aramis swallows heavily, looking down. “I really do. But it all just seems impossible.”

“Time, ‘Mis. Give it time. Nothing that is worth it happens in an instant. Remember what Sarah tells you, not today, not tomorrow, not next week, but someday and with each day that someday is getting closer.”

Aramis nods. “I’ll try.”

“That’s all we ask,” Porthos says.

“And to talk to us if you need or want,” Athos adds.

“Yes, always that.”

“Okay.” Aramis gives a slight smile.

“You feeling any better,” Porthos asks after a moment’s pause.

Aramis shrugs his shoulders. “Some.”

“That’s good.”

“Yes, now how about we go get in the car and head home before we all get wet,” Athos says.

Aramis nods and slowly rises. Athos and Porthos, who get to their feet quickly, stay close in case he’s unsteady.

Halfway up the ramp, Aramis speaks quietly. “Could you make your hot chocolate when we get back, Porthos.”

“Sure can,” Porthos agrees with an easy smile. “Why don’t we order in and spend the rest of this cold evening in the den watching movies?”

“Sounds like a good idea,” Athos says.

“As long as there’s hot chocolate and blankets, I’m good,” Aramis says, a shiver going through his thin frame.

“We’ll get down all the blankets you want. I might even have an electric one somewhere.”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Aramis gives Athos a slightly annoyed look, a quirk of his lips showing that he’s not angry.

“I forgot about it until now. I don’t even know where it is, but we’ll go looking for it.”

“You and Athos can go looking for it while I get the hot chocolate going,” Porthos says, with a tone of finality that ends the mild bickering. As they get into the car, he sees that the heaviness that has been weighing Aramis down is lessened some and he thinks that they might have made some progress. Then he shivers, despite the heat pouring from the car and the jacket, and thinks that next time Aramis needs to pick a place indoors to have his thinking time. It’s going to take a lot of hot chocolate to warm them up and he might just fight Aramis for that electric blanket.


	12. When It Rains, It Pours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Treville unexpectantly has his hands full with all four of the Inseperables down for the count.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not thrilled with this piece, but I hit a roadblock with writing. It stops at an awkward point and when I have some time away from it, I'll probably come back and do something more with this one.

Sitting down in the chair next to Porthos’ bed with a heavy sigh, Treville thinks that if there is one team of his nine that could manage to do this, it would have to be his Inseparables. He is tired, irritated, and perplexed about their timing. A few days ago, Porthos was the only one who was supposed to be in the hospital following scheduled shoulder surgery to repair an injury he sustained while playing with the kids at the Boys and Girls Club. But then, the others started dropping like flies it seemed.

First, it was d’Artagnan when they discovered he’d been hiding pain from a kidney stone. When he didn’t come down two days ago for breakfast despite Athos’ barked orders to wake up. It was then that Athos found him, feverish and in pain. Paramedics brought him and Athos in, with Porthos and Aramis following by car. Currently, he’s being monitored with surgery a likely possibility if he shows no improvement in the next 6 hours.

Then it was Athos, who was also hiding pain and it was perhaps his saving grace that they were at the hospital for d’Artagnan when he collapsed as he rose from his chair. With a high fever and a side that hurt at the lightest touch, the doctor quickly diagnosed appendicitis and Athos was rushed up for emergency surgery. That was when they called him in because the next day Porthos was set for surgery, which couldn’t be delayed, and he didn’t want Aramis to be there alone. Athos is still in the ICU, fever still high, but lower than it was, being monitored for his lingering infection.

What he didn’t know was that Aramis had been dealing with a cough and hadn’t told the others how bad it was. Just a few weeks prior he’d had a cold that seemed to go away reasonably quickly. It was back now as bronchitis. Yesterday, while sitting with Aramis, Treville had called Constance to come in. She stayed with d’Artagnan, while Aramis sat with a mask over his face in Athos’ ICU room, and Treville went between the ICU and the surgery waiting room. He’d been sure to keep Aramis stocked with cough drops, his inhaler, and hot tea, hoping that the combination would ward off anything worse.

It hadn’t because when he came back that evening, after seeing Porthos in post-op recovery, he found Aramis being wheeled out on a gurney, an oxygen mask on his face, coughing and panicked.

When Sarah found out, she sent the kids to their grandparents and came in to help. Her arrival helped as did Aramis’ placement in the ICU thanks to the mucus and asthma that were making his breathing difficult. Athos and Aramis aren’t in the same room, but they’re close enough that whoever is sitting with them can easily go back and forth. Treville just spent the last four hours doing that before Sarah relieved him.

Porthos himself has yet to fully wake from surgery, even more than twelve hours after its completion. According to the nurses, he had a bad reaction to the anesthesia and while he’s doing better now, has yet to be fully coherent when waking. Instead, it’s been short, semi-lucid bursts where he either gazes around, confusion clear in his eyes or ramblings that even Treville has a hard time understanding.

Suffice to say, Treville is more than exhausted and initially brushes off the soft mumble that comes from Porthos, thinking it just another confused ramble.

“Cap’n,” Porthos says, louder and clearer this time.

“Porthos.” Treville jumps at the clarity in the man’s voice. He helps him eat some ice cubes to ease his dry throat. “How’re you feeling?”

“Fuzzy headed. Everything feels thick.”

“You had a hard time with the anesthesia. It’s been about fourteen, fifteen hours since the surgery was over.”

“’Mis home then,” Porthos asks.

“No, he’s upstairs.”

“With Athos?”

“Just about. He’s in the next room with a severe case of bronchitis and asthma.”

“Not surprised,” Porthos says, shifting around a little. The movement provokes a twinge of pain that he can’t help but gasp at.

“Stop moving,” Treville scolds lightly. “I’m going to call for the nurse. They wanted to be alerted when you were finally coherent.” Treville presses the button on the remote laying alongside the edge of the bed.

“Others,” Porthos asks tiredly. “’thos and d’Art?”

“Stable, from what I last heard. Athos’ fever has come down some but they’re wanting to get him cleared of the infection before he’s released to a regular room. d’Artagnan is scheduled for surgery, though he has a few hours yet to avoid it. They’re concerned about the fever and that he hasn’t yet passed the stone.”

“Sorry.” Porthos’s eyes are drifting shut.

“It’s fine. It’s not like this was planned. Well, yours was, but the others didn’t.” Treville stops himself from rambling any further when the nurse walks in with Porthos’ doctor. Porthos wakes some to answer their questions but falls back asleep halfway through.

“Well, he’s recovered well from the anesthesia. We’ll keep him here for a few more days to keep an eye on the shoulder and any more complications,” the doctor says.

“He won’t be going anywhere anyway. His three friends are in here as patients as well,” Treville says.

“I had heard something about that.”

“Do you know if there’s a chance that I could get them all in one area once they’re back to regular rooms? This running around is getting hard on us.”

“I’ll have to talk with their doctors to find out.”

“Well, two are up in ICU and the other’s off to surgery soon.”

“It’s likely to be some time then before they can be put in the same room. The one headed off to surgery, perhaps. I can get a cot put in here for you and the others, if you’re going to be staying. No sense in you all getting run down as well.”

Treville thanks the doctor, sitting back in the chair as he leaves. He’s in for another long night it seems, but a bed does sound good. He’ll get Constance down here first, then Sarah, and then he’ll take a few hours to sleep. And hopefully, by the end of the week, all four of his boys, because try as he might, they really are like his children to him, will be at home, recovering from their latest illnesses and surgeries.


	13. The Impromptu Get Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After nearly a week of bad moods, Sarah decides its time to shake things up with an impromptu get together.

It’s after she sends Jean off to work, with him on edge for the fourth straight day, that Sarah decides tonight is a good night for a small get together. Aramis, she knows, is at the center of the bad mood. She also knows it’s not his fault and he’s trying his best. But it’s March and it’s the fifth anniversary. She’s impressed that he is able to continue working. It’s a far cry better than the first and second anniversary.

After a quick run out to the store with Meg, she gives Porthos a call.

“Porthos, are you busy,” she asks when he picks up.

“Just working. I have a few minutes though.” Even he sounds duller than normal.

“Jean and I are having a small get together here today and I want you and the others to come.”

She hears Porthos get up and guesses that he’s walking away from their group of desks. “I’m not sure that we’d all be good company. There’s a lot of brooding going on with it being the day before.”

“All the more reason to come.” She pauses. “In the middle of his remembering, he needs to be reminded that he survived and that he’s not alone. He needs his family. Frankly, I think you all do.”

“He’s not going to like it.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised, but he needs it.”

“I’ll talk to Athos and we’ll be there. You okay with the Pup as well?”

“He’s family, isn’t he?”

“He’ll be happy to see Freddie again. He’s been missing him with how busy we’ve been.” Freddie is the name of the dog d’Artagnan rescued that never made it to the shelter the next day. Between the four of them, they’d convinced Jean to take the dog. Some weekends they took the dog, but he mostly stayed with the Trevilles, much to the children’s delight.

“And Freddie will be happy to see all of you. He’s looking for a good night of playing.”

“When should we come over?”

“Right after work is good. I’ll call Jean and let him know so you can catch a ride back with him.”

“Sounds good. We’ll see you this evening.”

After hanging up with Porthos, she calls Jean and lets him know. He grumbles initially, but then apologizes and agrees to both the get-together and the reasoning. She knows he’s been worried about Aramis and that’s fed into his foul mood of late.

When the five walk through her door that evening, she can feel the weariness they bring. While she goes to great them, she has the kids and dogs waiting in the den so as not to bombard them. Athos had texted her earlier that Aramis has been rather on edge lately and easily triggered.

“Jean,” she says cheerfully, going to hug her husband. Despite his tiredness, he looks happy to see her. She then turns to the others.

“Thanks for inviting us over,” Porthos says. He looks just as tired and exhausted as Athos and d’Artagnan. She imagines there have been some sleepless nights in the house this week.

“I’m glad you could all make it. Dinner’s almost ready and the kids and dogs are in the den. They’re quite excited, so I asked them to stay back to give you all space to get in.”

“Thanks,” Athos says.

“Well, don’t be strangers. Come on in,” she says. “You know where to put your jackets and shoes. You can pick who’s released first from the den. Aramis, would you mind helping me to finish up dinner.”

“Sure.” Aramis’ voice is so low she thinks he might not’ve spoken, but then he takes off his shoes and jacket, handing the jacket to Athos when the man puts his hand out for it and follows her down the hall to the kitchen.

“It’s not a big meal,” she says as they walk into the kitchen. “Meg and I went to the store earlier and picked up a bunch of our favorite snack foods as well as things we knew you all liked.”

Aramis nods, looking around at the food. “Where do you want my help,” he asks, voice empty.

“Ben was almost done with the pigs in a blanket when you all came in. Do you mind finishing those up and getting them in the oven?”

Without speaking again, Aramis washes his hands and starts in on the pigs in a blanket. She watches out of the corner of her eye as she finishes cutting up the cheese for the crackers and meat. He’s moving, but it’s slow like his limbs weigh too much. His shoulders are drooped and his skin is pale. She imagines he’s barely slept this week and eaten far less than he should. He’s met with Lemay a couple times already this week but she’s not sure how much the sessions are helping.

“When you’re done there, do you might getting the cheese dip going?”

“Sure.”

They work quietly at finishing up dinner. She calls Jean and Athos out to help with taking plates into the dining room. Earlier, she had Tim and Ben pull the chairs away from the table so they would have better access without getting caught up in the chairs. She’s planned this out and she doesn’t want them sitting. The house might be rowdy tonight and she expects the kids won’t get to bed until late, but it’s worth it if they can remind Aramis of what he has around him.

When the table is set, she has Aramis and Athos get some food for themselves before letting the others in. As she gets a few plates together for the kids, she listens to Athos gently encouraging Aramis to take a little more of some things. Many of the foods she prepared she knew he would like and Meg pointed to a couple of his favorites in the store.

When Athos seems satisfied that Aramis has enough for now, they go to the living room where they can avoid some of the crowd and noise for a short time. Then, Sarah lets the others loose. Fortunately, the dogs follow the others and the smell of food to the dining room, giving Aramis and Athos a few more minutes of peace.

She hands the kids their plates, with orders to eat the vegetables she put on there in addition to everything they pile on. d’Artagnan steps in to help Meg, who can’t reach most of the things on the table without knocking things over.

“You were right about his brooding,” she tells Porthos when he steps back from the table, plate in hand, to stand next to her.

“Each day it keeps getting worse. I’m not sure who’s looking forward to tomorrow being over more, us or him.” Porthos takes a bite of his food.

“He’s not been sleeping well, I take it?”

“Hardly and what he does get quickly turns to nightmares. And then sometimes flashbacks and panic attacks. We’ve been sleeping in his bed with him, he’s been in our rooms. None of it’s working this time.”

“I’m surprised he hasn’t collapsed from exhaustion yet.”

“He nearly did yesterday. Captain would’ve sent him home, but we didn’t want him to be alone.”

“Jean told me he spent the afternoon on the couch in his office. He’s not eating either?”

“Some, but the lack of sleep is messing with his body. He’s been feeling sick the last couple days.”

“He looks a touch sick.”

“He’s running a mild fever, but it’s nothing serious. We just need to help him through these next couple days.”

“Hopefully, tonight will help.”

“He always brightens up around here. Your kids help a lot with that.”

“Shall we see what they’re up to then? I hear some chatter out there.” Jean has managed, with d’Artagnan’s help, to herd the kids and dogs out of the dining room to the living room.

In the living room, she finds the dogs sitting at attention, waiting for food. Freddie, the long-haired chocolate lab mix that d’Artagnan found and thought to be a full grown dog turned out to still be a puppy and grew another half a foot. Then, Jean, of all people, argued that Freddie needed a playmate. Pets should always be in pairs, if they’re amenable to it. That’s how they got Gracie, a golden retriever rescue, who is estimated to be just as old as Freddie. The two were quickly inseparable and there were many times when Athos would be forced, with only mirthful grumbling, to take both dogs back to their place for the weekend. Freddie wouldn’t budge without Gracie and Gracie wouldn’t let them leave without her.

Athos and Aramis are sitting on the love seat with Ben in between them. The rest are wedged on the couch, with Meg near d’Artagnan to help her if needed. All in all, it’s quieter and more organized than she expected. Apparently, that mood of Aramis is rather infectious.

For now, she lets it go, in part for the sake of the furniture. But also to let Aramis ease into the situation more. They each go back for seconds, Aramis though only at Athos’ insistence and because he doesn’t have the energy to argue. He doesn’t eat much or fast, but at least it’s something.

Freddie and Gracie wait patiently through most of the second round of food, being pacified with occasional scraps of food. They then both launch themselves onto Aramis, who’d just set his plate aside but was completely unprepared for the dual attack. Seeing the movement, Athos sets his plate aside and picks Ben up, setting him on his lap until Porthos comes to get him.

For a seemingly long moment, the room is silent save for the excited sniffing of the two dogs as they double team Aramis, pinning him to the couch. Underneath them, they don’t see more than some movement from Aramis’ legs. This is far from what Sarah planned to have happen and she hopes that Freddie and Gracie don’t trigger anything. Aramis will hate having an attack, especially in front of the kids even though they all know about their uncle’s illnesses.

And then, there’s a light chuckle, which is drawn into a laugh as the dogs start licking Aramis. As the licking goes on, the dogs moving to different places, more ticklish and sensitive the laughter turns to a higher pitched giggle. The whole scene is enough to release the tension and dark mood that had settled in each of them and over the room.

The kids set aside their plates as does d’Artagnan as they all run for dog toys to get the two dogs going. A high-pitched squeak, a soft rubber ball held by Tim, finally pulls the dogs away from Aramis and sends them running when Tim throws the toy down the hall. For a bit, Aramis just watches, then when Gracie brings her rope and sets it in his lap, he joins in, playing tug with her until she’s distracted by something else.

Within an hour the dogs are exhausted and the kids are much calmer. Sarah doesn’t know how many laps around the house they did, but it did wonders on wearing them out. She might get them to bed on time after all. Porthos and d’Artagnan are on the love seat, with Meg sitting between them explaining something to them. Tim and Jean are at the coffee table, working through the last of Tim’s homework. On the couch are Ben, Athos, and Aramis. They’re not talking, but for the first time since Aramis walked in the house tonight, he doesn’t look so lost. He’s still exhausted as is evidenced by him leaning on Athos, eyes closed.

“Jean,” she says, tapping her husband on the shoulder gently. He follows her gaze to Aramis.

“Come here, Ben,” Treville says, beckoning the boy to come sit with him and Tim.

“Why?”

“I think we’re going to let Aramis get more comfortable,” Athos says quietly.

“Fine,” Aramis mumbles, voice sleepy.

“Sure.” Athos ruffles a hand through his hair lightly.

“Come over here, Ben. Let’s see if you can with Tim’s homework,” Treville says. Ben looks at Aramis and Athos and then, reluctantly, goes over to the coffee table. With the rest of the couch clear, Sarah, with Athos’ help, gets Aramis to stretch out on his side, his head in Athos’ lap. She quickly grabs a blanket from the den, one that Aramis always liked when he stayed there and lays it on him.

“Thanks,” Aramis says sleepily as she’s walking away. “Thank you, Sarah, for this. All of you, thanks for tonight.” Athos keeps running his fingers through Aramis’ hair, calming the man as he drifts off into an exhausted sleep. As the minutes tick by and everyone continues with their talking and working, they silently count each minute gratefully as Aramis continues to sleep.


	14. The Pile of Blankets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aramis comes home to find d'Artagnan missing. Perhaps he's under the blankets on the couch, but why?

When Aramis gets home, the house is quiet. Athos and Porthos he knows are still at work. He left Athos doing liaison paperwork. If it had been Porthos working, he might’ve stayed for a little longer. But Athos is grumpy and Aramis is sure that he’s trying to get himself banned from liaison work. Treville’s been getting a lot of calls this week after Athos returns from liaison meetings and then Athos has been getting called in and chewed out by Treville. Each time, he walks out of the office looking chastised until he sits down at this desk and then there’s an unsettling smile that comes. As the days pass he’s looking more pleased.

And Porthos, as one of the senior Musketeers, is in meetings to form rules to open the Musketeers up to women. Athos suggested opening it to anyone of age provided they pass the exams regardless of how they identify, but Treville reminded him of where they live. Opening it up to women is progress enough for the elite task force. In time, Treville said, he will work on opening it up, but people needed to adjust to women on the task force first. Generally, there was support for it, but those who objected were quite vocal. Aramis is glad he’s not in that meeting.

d’Artagnan, a first-year cadet, had the day off for classes and should be doing homework. Aramis thought he might’ve been eating, given that it’s evening and he’s quite hungry, especially when he has work he’s trying to avoid. But the kitchen is dark. A quick look up the stairs to the hallway shows that d’Artagnan’s room is dark as well.

Aramis wanders further finding a pile of blankets on the couch in the den. Sticking out of one end is a mop of brown hair that looks to be the missing cadet, apparently sound asleep with a textbook lying upside down, pages fanned out and bent on the floor where it fell.

“d’Artagnan,” Aramis says, walking into the den. The younger man doesn’t budge. Aramis tries to make a quick count of the blankets but simply concludes that he must’ve dragged out every blanket they had downstairs and his own from his bedroom. Aramis moves the book aside and kneels near where d’Artagnan’s head is.

“d’Artagnan,” he tries again, louder. This time there’s some movement. d’Artagnan tightens his eyes and shifts his head, making a light moan. “You okay, d’Artagnan?”

“Cold,” d’Artagnan mumbles, shifting under the blankets.

“I don’t know how. You have every blanket from downstairs on you and that’s not a small number.”

“Still cold.” Aramis can hear a bit of congestion in his voice.

“Are you coming down with something?”

“Cold.”

“I understand that.” Aramis chuckles at the young man’s mumbled repetition. He reaches a hand out to feel his forehead, sensing the heat radiating off him before he even touches the skin. “I’m going to get the kit. I’ll be back.” When Aramis comes back with the kit, d’Artagnan hasn’t moved.

“I need you to turn your head a bit, d’Artagnan,” Aramis says gently.

“Wha…? Why?” d’Artagnan coughs lightly.

“I want to see how bad your fever is. Now, just turn your head so I can get to an ear.”

“Don’t have a fever. ‘m cold, ‘Mis.”

“Yes, you do have a fever and hopefully, it’s just a cold, not the flu that I know has been going around campus. So, please just turn your head. You can still stay under the blankets.”

d’Artagnan shifts some under the blankets again, but finally does move his head, allowing Aramis to stick the node of the thermometer in his ear. Seconds later it beeps and reads 101.5.

“So,” d’Artagnan asks, shifting so that he can look at Aramis. His eyes are now partly open and Aramis can see the fever and exhaustion in them. Their young cadet has been wearing himself out hitting the books and working at the station.

“You have a cold and a fever.”

“That must be why I’m cold,” d’Artagnan says plainly.

“Yes, that’s why you’re cold. Have you eaten anything today?”

“Didn’t feel like it.” There’re another couple coughs and a sniffle.

“Were you just too tired or nauseous?”

“Some of both.”

“Have you taken any ibuprofen?”

“No. Cold.” d’Artagnan works his way back down under the blankets after a shiver goes through his body.

“Okay,” Aramis says with a chuckle. This is the first time he’s dealt with a sick d’Artagnan and apparently he becomes quite repetitive when sick. It’s amusing. “What sounds good to eat and drink?”

“Nothing. Cold.”

“I’m going to get you some ibuprofen, but you can’t take it on an empty stomach. How about some toast and tea? That should warm you up some.”

“Okay,” d’Artagnan says reluctantly. Aramis leaves d’Artagnan to his pile of blankets and goes to make the tea and toast. He goes with simple buttered toast, which should be light enough not to irritate d’Artagnan’s stomach. As he waits for the snack to be done, he grabs a quick snack himself. He’ll eat dinner when Athos and Porthos get home.

“You need to sit up now, d’Artagnan,” Aramis says, walking in with the tea and toast. He sets them on the coffee table to work on coaxing d’Artagnan into a sitting position. It takes a lot of verbal coaching and eventually physically helping him to sit up. d’Artagnan clutches at the blankets as if they’re going to be sucked away into another dimension and never seen again. Aramis rearranges them so that he can hold onto them and have his snack. Although d’Artagnan seems steady in holding onto the plate and then tea, Aramis sits close by.

When he finishes, Aramis hands him the medication and a glass of water.

“Are you going to make me go upstairs,” d’Artagnan asks after he takes the pills.

“Do you want to go upstairs?”

“No. I was happy down here. It’s so quiet and lonely up there.”

“Then, let’s sit here on the couch and catch up on some TV that Athos and Porthos hate.” Aramis and d’Artagnan are major fans of the Arrowverse shows, which Athos and Porthos aren’t fond of. They put up with watching them, but the two younger team members know they don’t like the shows.

“Okay,” d’Artagnan says hesitantly.

“Now, you can either have your head or your feet in my lap. It’s your choice. Whichever you’re more comfortable with.”

“What?”

“You’re going to stretch out. Get some sleep, if you can. You need to get through this cold before you get much further behind in your work.”

“Oh, my work! I have a big paper coming up I need to read for.” d’Artagnan reaches for his book.

“You’re not working tonight. Maybe tomorrow for a little bit. We’ll see how you’re feeling. Right now, you need to rest. The work will be there, your health won’t be if you don’t take care of it. So, tell me where you want me to sit and get comfortable. We should be able to get through a couple episodes before they come home.”

d’Artagnan opts to put his feet in Aramis’ lap, though he’s somewhat hesitant about it. Aramis brushes his concerns off and pulls his feet into his lap, tossing the pile of blankets over him. As they settle in to watch the latest episodes, d’Artagnan is cozy again underneath the blankets but Aramis finds himself quickly sweating. Nevertheless, he puts up with it for the look of content on d’Artagnan’s face as the young man dozes off.


	15. Well-deserved Revenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Constance and d'Artagnan get their revenge on Athos, Porthos, and Aramis for a prank they pulled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one follows up to chapter 14: Idle Amusement from Thirty-One Days Hath October.

What alerts Athos that something is off isn’t that he’s standing in the middle of the Trevilles’ living room. It’s the sound of high-pitched giggling of three children and Meg calling for more. He shakes his head to clear the cobwebs that he doesn’t know how they got there. The last thing he really remembers is sitting on the couch next to Porthos. He has vague recollections of singing and dancing, but can’t place where they’re from.

Looking next to him, he sees Porthos on one side, with an equally confused look, and Aramis on the other side, though he’s just about on the floor laughing.

“Th…that was… better… th… than I… expec…ted,” Aramis says between breaths. He’s given up all pretenses of remaining upright and is now on his back on the floor, laughing, with Freddie and Gracie coming to check him out.

“What just happened,” Porthos asks, looking around in confusion.

Off to the side, sitting on and near the love seat are Treville, Constance, and d’Artagnan, all laughing.

“What’s going on,” Athos asks, echoing Porthos’ confusion.

“I want to hear that last one again,” Meg says loudly, giggling again.

“Last one?” Porthos turns to Athos, who shrugs his shoulders in confusion.

“The tarzan one,” Ben says. “Sing that one again.”

“Sing,” Athos says quietly. Then it hits him. His trick on d’Artagnan and Constance has been repaid. “I’m not sure I want to know what we sang,” he says with a light grumble.

“It was great,” d’Artagnan says. “‘Gitarzan’ with Porthos as Jane. I didn’t know you had it in you, Porthos.”

“It wasn’t perfect, but it was a fantastic attempt, especially with the choreography,” Constance says, erupting in laughter again as she leans over into d’Artagnan.

“What else did we sing,” Porthos asks, holding back a sigh. He’s not angry. They deserved it for what they did to Constance and d’Artagnan a few months ago.

“‘Lords of the Sea’,” Sarah says with a smile. Athos knows she was responsible for the hypnosis.

“And you sang lead on ‘Hair’,” d’Artagnan says.

“Oh, no. And who’s idea was that,” Athos asks with a loud groan.

“Mine,” Aramis raises his hand still laughing lightly.

“You knew about all of this?” Athos can’t help the accusation in his voice, but there’s no anger there.

“You don’t think I was going to hypnotize him,” Sarah says slightly incredulous that Athos would think she’d mess with Aramis’ mind no matter what the young man said. She’s not a psychologist, but she knows that hypnotizing Aramis with his illnesses would’ve been a recipe for disaster. Fortunately, Aramis was more than willing to be a good sport, though she suspects that part of it was for the chance to prank Athos and Porthos.

“She told me what she was planning and I agreed to help out. You two couldn’t carry these numbers without my help.”

“Now, that is true. ‘Lords of the Sea’ and ‘Gitarzan’ would’ve been nothing without Aramis’ back up, both in singing and choreography,” Constance says.

“And just what did you do,” Porthos asks, turning to Aramis, who’s still on the floor, gently petting the two dogs who are lying on either side of him.

“He did the ape,” Meg shouts.

“Please don’t shout, Meg. There’s no need,” Sarah says quietly. “And you were a fantastic ape, Aramis. Between the sounds and your acting, it was better than I thought.”

“Thank you,” Aramis says. “I am always happy to make a fool of myself to amuse my family as well as prank them.” He gives them a big smile.

“And who sang lead on the pirates one,” Athos asks. He hates to think that they were subjected to his voice for three songs but he knows as the instigator of the last prank he’s the prime target.

“We chose Porthos for that one,” d’Artagnan says. “You and Aramis were great back up singers. Not as good as the show, but still amusing.”

“And you really went along with all of this?” Porthos looks at Aramis again.

“It was fun, Porthos.” Aramis turns serious. “It’s been a rough year and I just want a bit of fun,” he says, nearly pleading.

Porthos pauses. Between having a severe relapse of his illnesses and the car accident that nearly killed him, Aramis has had a rough year. He doesn’t begrudge the man for wanting to have some fun, nor for having it at their expense. Coming back to awareness to see Aramis laughing on the floor makes up for any embarrassment he might feel about having been hypnotized to sing and dance. And they deserved it after what they did to the others.

“Don’t worry about it, ‘Mis,” Porthos says. “I’m glad that you enjoyed yourself and I hope we’re even now,” he adds, looking at d’Artagnan and Athos. d’Artagnan nods, smiling.

“Perhaps,” Athos adds, hair nearly obscuring the sly look on his face. Aramis really knew which song to pick for the taciturn man, Porthos thinks as he takes in the dangerous look on Athos’ face.


	16. A Difficult Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's game day and d'Artagnan hasn't made his choice yet for which team to root for.

Porthos, Aramis, and Constance are busy in the kitchen putting the final touches on their snack foods for the game. Athos is in charge of getting the seating organized in the game room downstairs.

“Hey, you three done,” Athos calls out, jogging up the steps. “The game is about ready to start.”

“Just putting the finishing touches on things,” Porthos says. “You can start taking some things down. Those trays on the edge of the island nearest to you are good to go.”

“Good.” Athos takes a couple plates and goes back downstairs. Porthos hears him telling d’Artagnan to go grab a couple plates. The young man looks a bit harried from the frantic push to get the basement ready for the five of them.

“Let’s get these last couple down there before he comes back up,” Aramis says once d’Artagnan and Athos have taken another couple plates each, with Athos warning d’Artagnan to be careful going down the stairs. Of all of them, no one expected Athos to be this obsessed with football. It just seems out of character for him, but apparently, it was something his dad and younger brother bonded over when he was growing up. The only other one of them who cares a lot about the game is Constance and that’s because football is a religion in Wisconsin.

Aramis and Porthos set the trays on the table in the back. Athos and d’Artagnan have the coffee table cleared off and coasters set in each of the places where the five of them will sit on the sectional couch, which has been arranged so that they all have clear sights of the large TV screen. If it had been any other game and if Constance wasn’t joining them, they likely would watch it up in the den but there aren’t enough seats for the five of them and despite how they may feel about the game, they still have to watch.

“All right, everyone sit down,” Athos yells above the noise of them setting things up and talking. “The game’s about to start.”

“It’s just the coin toss, Athos,” Porthos says.

“Yeah, let us get some of this food, then we’ll sit down,” d’Artagnan says, grabbing a plate to start piling a plate.

“I don’t even know why you three made so much food,” Athos mildly complains but grabs a plate himself, an eye on the screen all the while.

“We need some reason to enjoy this game,” Porthos says.

“Yeah and baking and cooking make this process bearable,” Aramis adds.

“You mean you two don’t like football, either,” d’Artagnan asks.

“It’s okay, but it takes too long,” Aramis says.

“Never could get into it,” Porthos says. “They wanted me to play in high school. Thought I could get an athletic scholarship by playing.” Plate full, he takes it over to his customary seat, setting his drink on the coaster. Slowly, the others join him.

“Why didn’t you,” d’Artagnan asks. He’s sitting on the opposite end of the couch, next to Constance. In fact, he’s awkwardly sitting between Constance and Athos and he’s not sure how that happened. Porthos and Aramis are happily sitting off to the side. This spot really is the last place he wants to be. All week the two had been taunting each other, in good nature, of course, about who is going to win tonight’s game.

“I’m more than some stereotype,” Porthos says. “And I wasn’t terribly good anyway.”

“I still think part of it was that you didn’t want to have your mascot be a bunny,” Aramis says with a chuckle.

“Quiet, you two,” Constance and Athos say nearly simultaneously

“A bunny?” d’Artagnan mouths the word, not wanting to risk the wrath of Constance and Athos.

“Yeah, they were the Fisher Bunnies. A very intimidating mascot.” Aramis is smiling far too wide.

“That mascot is a matter of pride,” Porthos says defensively.

“Quiet,” Constance hisses. They stop talking and try to be interested in the game. They have to make it to halftime, then they can play pool, as per the long-standing deal they made with Athos. During the game, they can play around on their phones, but Athos does prefer them to pay attention. They understand. It’s lonely to watch without company, so they do their best to pay attention and not kibbitz. Athos doesn’t appreciate that. They found that out a few years ago.

“So, what’d you do in high school, if you weren’t on a team,” d’Artagnan asks after a while, once they’re at a commercial break.

“Oh, I was on a team,” Porthos says.

“Yes, the math team,” Aramis counters playfully.

“It was a well-respected team. We went to state every year I was on the team.”

“Math team?” d’Artagnan’s eyebrows rise.

“Didn’t expect it from someone like me?”

“No, no. Our math team was a joke. Didn’t think they were all that good anywhere.”

“Our Porthos is a math genius,” Athos says, leaning in towards d’Artagnan. “Could’ve gotten a Ph.D. and gone off to do something important, making all sorts of discoveries and inventions.”

“Yes, he could’ve been an engineer or astrophysicist, or something big and important like that,” Aramis adds.

“And keeping the streets safe from mob bosses, gangs, and serial killers isn’t important,” Porthos asks.

“You know what I mean.” Aramis playfully shoves Porthos’ shoulder.

“Yes, I do.”

“Quiet the game’s back on,” Athos says, eyes glued on the TV again. As Athos and Constance get absorbed in the game again, the others carefully get up and go for seconds on the food.

“So, why the Musketeers,” d’Artagnan asks on another commercial break.

“My family moved to get away from the crime of Chicago. We moved twice so that my brothers and me could grow up in a safe environment. I always knew I wanted to do something to stop it. So, after getting my bachelor’s, I became a cop. Worked the streets. Even pulled Athos over once for speeding before I knew him.” Porthos smiles at that last bit.

“Speeding,” d’Artagnan says, looking at Athos, who just shrugs his shoulders and keeps on watching the game.

“His goal is to get to the destination as quick as possible,” Aramis says. “Why do you think we don’t let him drive much. It’s scary.”

“I’m not that bad,” Athos retorts. “Now, shut up and watch the game. We’re almost to halftime and then you can talk all you want.”

“Alright, alright,” d’Artagnan says. Shortly before the start of halftime, when a timeout is called and the game kicked to a commercial break, Aramis and Porthos pull out their phones.

When halftime is called, Athos and Constance stretch, having sat most of the first half, eyes rapt on the screen. Aramis and Porthos quickly hop up to start a game of pool.

“So, d’Artagnan,” Constance starts, pulling d’Artagnan back down when he tries to go join Aramis and Porthos, “who are you rooting for?”

“Yes, d’Artagnan,” Athos says. “Who’re you rooting for?” All week they’d been playfully trying to coax him to their side.

“If you want to stay on the team, pick the Bears,” Aramis calls out.

“Now, I’m not like that,” Athos retorts.

“Then if you won’t want to be stuck on grunt work, pick the Bears.”

“I’m not like that either.”

“I’d say that if you don’t want Constance to wipe the floor with you during training, then take the Packers,” Porthos says.

“I would never,” Constance says, incredulous.

“I don’t really care either way. Football’s not my thing,” d’Artagnan finally says.

“You have to have an opinion.”

“I don’t. We didn’t play football much growing up. It was more baseball where I lived.”

“Baseball?” Athos raises an eyebrow.

“I grew up around corn, Athos. You know, that yellow vegetable that grows in the fields. Angels in the Outfield was more our thinking than Remember the Titans or Friday Night Lights. Or Rookie of the Year. Now that one was always a classic. Used to watch weekly until the tape wore out. We all dreamed of pitching for the Cubs.”

“You’re a Cubs fan?” Athos moves back.

“Um… yeah. It’s in the family.”

“Well, this changes things.” Athos’ tone is serious. d’Artagnan swallows audibly.

“Athos, stop that,” Porthos says. “You know you’re a Cubs fan too and you’ll finally have someone to go to the games with.”

“You mean, you’re fine with it,” d’Artagnan asks.

“Yes, I’m fine. Just messing with you. Sorry about that. I shouldn’t when it comes to sports rivalries,” Athos says.

“Speaking of rivalries,” Constance begins.

“I don’t care much. Now, give me a Cornbelter’s game and we’re good to go,” d’Artagnan says, a fond look in his eyes as he remembers going to the games with his brothers and sisters.

“Cornbelters,” Aramis asks.

“Minor league baseball,” Porthos says.

“No, not at all. They’re independent of the League system and the games are fantastic to watch,” d’Artagnan says.

“So, no pick on the game,” Athos asks.

Aramis walks over to d’Artagnan and whispers to him. “I told you, we normally just work to keep things even.”

“But there’s five of us. How’s it supposed to be even,” d’Artagnan asks, looking even less than pleased to be sitting where he is under the gazes of Athos and Constance.

“Who’re you more afraid of?”

“Constance,” d’Artagnan says right away. “She’s much tougher on the mat.”

“That’s right,” Porthos says. “We all know Athos is just a teddy bear, especially with all of that hair.” He gives Athos a smile.

“I’ll see you on the mat first thing Monday morning if the Bears lose,” Athos says in a tone that d’Artagnan is unsure of its seriousness. Either way, he figures he’s going to be spending some time on the mat this week.

“Save me, ‘Mis,” d’Artagnan looks up at Aramis.

“You’re on your own. We warned you. But after they wipe the floor with you, I’ll patch you up so you can keep working.” Aramis smiles.

“Gee, thanks. Porthos?”

“I’ll help carry you out, but I’m not getting in the middle of Athos and his football or Constance and her football, for that matter.”

d’Artagnan sinks down on the couch with a groan, wondering if it’s possible to root for both teams to win. Can they tie in football? Maybe he can get the power knocked out or something.

“Don’t worry,” Athos says. “It’ll be fine. The Bears are up and looking good.”

“The Packers will come back strong. They just need to regroup,” Constance says.

“Regroup? More like they need a miracle. They couldn’t get a yard on the fourth down with the ref’s help.”

As they continue arguing, d’Artagnan sees his chance to slip away to the game. He doesn’t know much about pool, but there aren’t teams, which he’s grateful for. This is not what he signed up for when he agreed to watch the rivalry game.


	17. Tackling a Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aramis needs to take the driving test to get his license back. Porthos tries to help him get used to driving again but it's quickly clear that the test isn't the concern.

It’s on a nondescript, cold and dreary Saturday morning in January that finds Porthos and Aramis sitting in Porthos’ car in an empty church parking lot. Aramis sits awkwardly in the driver’s seat and Porthos in the passenger’s.

“You know, the longer you wait to turn the keys the colder we’re going to get,” Porthos says, holding back a shiver. He knows this isn’t easy for Aramis, despite him asking them for the help. It was a week ago, nearly, actually that Aramis brought this up as they were cleaning up after dinner.

“I need to take the driving test to get my license back,” Aramis says, leaning idly against the island, a dish towel in hand.

“Why,” Porthos asks. “It should just be a simple fine.”

“There…um…” Aramis moves restlessly against the island, twisting his hands in the towel. “Marsac had the doctors fill out a medical form saying I couldn’t drive, that I was unsafe. Lemay’s already fixed that part, but they’re saying I need to pass the written and driving test to get my license back.”

“Oh.” Porthos’ jaw drops a bit. With how good Aramis is doing now, it’s easy to forget about Marsac and how he’s messed with Aramis’ life.

“Well, Porthos is your man for that,” Athos says as he finishes with the dishwasher. “I’m a terrible driver. Ask Porthos.”

“He’s paid more in fines than he has miles on his car, I think.”

Aramis looks at Athos, surprised.

Athos shrugs his shoulders. “I’ve always hated Chicago traffic. It takes forever to get anywhere and it’s so crowded, so I’m usually just thinking how can I get there the fastest.”

“I pulled him over twice when I was a cop for speeding,” Porthos says.

“It was three times,” Athos says.

“So, I guess, you are my best choice, Porthos,” Aramis says. “I was decent at driving. I only had a couple parking tickets.”

“How about we go out in my car this Saturday. We’ll take a few weekends and see how you do. You should be ready for the tests them.”

During the course of the week, Aramis reveals also that Treville has told him he needs to get his license as one step to ending his probation. And it’s a few late night conversations as the weekend grows closer that reveals Aramis’ hesitation in driving again. He knows his illnesses and while they’re under better control he sometimes is triggered unexpectantly and those episodes can range in severity.

“I know, Porthos,” Aramis says, resting his forehead on the steering wheel. He slept poorly and is exhausted thanks to a few bad nights of sleep. “Do you want to head back home?”

“Do you,” Porthos asks pointedly.

Aramis hesitates. “No.” It’s an anguished whine. He knows what he needs to do and he wants to but can he turn the keys? He and Lemay talked about this during his session and he made a couple calls to him in the last couple days.

“Then, turn the keys, Aramis.”

“Maybe I don’t really need to drive after all. I mean, is it really a good idea to have me behind the wheel? A pin drops and I might be triggered.”

“Stop that, ‘Mis,” Porthos says. “That’s an exaggeration and you know it. If you want to ever be a full-fledged Musketeer, then you’re going to have to get your license because the Musketeers have their own driving test.”

“I know. I know.” Aramis nods head still leaning against the steering wheel.

“But, if you’re not ready to drive today, then you’re not ready. There’s no sense in pushing this,” Porthos says, voice softer.

“I want to. I’m tired of being reliant on one of you two or Treville and Sarah. I’m stuck in the house, especially now when it’s too cold to just walk places.”

“Then why don’t you want to turn the key?”

Aramis is silent before quietly saying, “What if they’re right? What if he was right?” He sniffles, finally moving back to lean his head against the headrest. “I couldn’t take causing people more heartache, Porthos. What if I shouldn’t be driving because I’m a danger to people on the road? It’s only been a few weeks since that major panic attack in Chicago where I punched Athos and didn’t know where I was. What if something like that happens?”

“Hey,” Porthos begins, “stop that talk.” Porthos puts a calming hand on Aramis’ shoulder.

“But…”

“No. Let’s put Marsac aside for now. I don’t even want to talk about that man. But let’s do talk about your life now. Lemay signed off on the paperwork, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And do you trust Lemay?”

“Of course. He’s the only psychiatrist to actually listen to me instead of dismissing me as another hopeless case.”

“Good. Now, do you trust Treville?”

“Yes. How could I not?”

“How about me and Athos?”

“Yes,” Aramis answers so quickly that Porthos thinks he might’ve not realized what he was answering.

“You trust me and Athos?” Trust has been the sticking point between the two of them and Aramis this past year. It wasn’t that Aramis didn’t want to trust them, but that he couldn’t make himself.

“Yes, Porthos,” Aramis says earnestly. “I can’t say that I won’t have doubts, that I won’t have moments where I question if you will really always there. But I do believe I can trust you and Athos. You two have stuck with me no matter what happened last year when you barely knew me, and it was a bad year.”

“So, if you can trust Lemay, Treville, Athos, and me, then trust that we think you’re safe to drive. We care about you, a lot, and wouldn’t let you put yourself in danger, even if it meant you couldn’t be a Musketeer.”

“I know.”

The car falls silent for a few moments.

“It seems you trust so many others, but do you trust yourself,” Porthos asks.

Aramis shakes his head, eyes closed. “How could I? I still don’t know at times how I’m going to react to things. Look at Chicago a few weeks ago.”

“That was more than a few weeks ago and have you had a major panic attack since then?”

“Some smaller ones.”

“Anything that serious? Did it start a wave of attacks? Are you worse or more unsettled now?”

“No. But it makes me wonder.” In the immediate aftermath of the Chicago panic attack, there had been a lot of sleepless nights for the three of them. There are still some nights like these and moments of panic where Aramis thinks he’s going to have a major attack. It’s been weeks since they’ve gone out during the day. Even the mall outing with Tim and Ben was altered to work with Aramis.

“You remember last week when we went out shopping,” Porthos asks. Aramis nods. “We thought we’d gone at a good time when you wouldn’t be triggered by anything, right?”

Another nod.

“But what happened?”

“There was a loud bang and a baby cried out.”

“And then what?”

“I don’t remember.”

“You don’t? You froze, got that far off look, and your breathing picked up. Athos could feel your heart beating with a simple touch.” Porthos pauses, looking at Aramis, who’s staring out at the dead, snow-covered landscape. “Do you remember what happened then? Did you have a panic attack?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“The surroundings. The aisles and the music,” Aramis says. “There were so many things to notice and look at.”

“You redirected your own thoughts.”

“I also breathed myself into an asthma attack and had to sit down to rest halfway through our trip,” Aramis counters.

“So it wasn’t perfect. Do you know that was the first time you’ve really managed to redirect yourself? It’s usually me and Athos doing it. But you started on your own. If that’s not proof that you are getting your illnesses under control, then I don’t know what is.”

“But that was once, Porthos.”

“And you’ll do it again. I have confidence in you, Aramis. I just wish you’d have that same confidence.”

“I used to be confident.” Aramis looks down, fiddling with the zipper on his jacket. “I want to be again.”

“It’ll come, Aramis. You’ve been through quite a lot. I can’t think of anyone who’d still have their confidence after everything you’ve been through.”

“I’ve heard that a lot.” Aramis closes his eyes and leans back against the seat.

“I bet.”

“The question is, when. When does it start coming back?”

“Maybe with turning the keys?”

“Are you telling me that you’re freezing,” Aramis asks with a slight smile.

“Well, I am cold and I’d like a little heat in the car, but what I mean is that you’ve got to do things for yourself. It’s not that you aren’t already, but you need to challenge yourself with things that scare you to see that you can do them. And if it’s a pep talk to get you going or a late night anxious pace, you need that’s okay. If it goes bad and you need someone to talk to, I’ll be there and I’m sure Athos will be too and probably all of the Trevilles, even Meg though she’s not even a year yet. If it doesn’t go as planned, and we both know that some of your ventures will go badly, you just need to remember that you’re not alone. You’re stuck with us, no matter what happens.”

“I know. I understand.” Aramis nods and the car lapses into silence again.

“So, how about tackling one of your fears now and turning on the car.” Porthos is shivering even more now and he knows that Aramis isn’t because the man wears at least three layers, not including thermal underwear before even thinking about stepping out in this weather. He has some of his muscle built back up, but he’s still on the thin side and gets cold easily.

“Okay.” Aramis chuckles as Porthos’ plea.

“Good. We’ll see how you do with the car idling and then maybe take it around a bit, let you get a feel for the pedals again.”

They’ve been sitting long enough that when Aramis does turn the keys, the engine takes a few minutes to warm up and they have to wait for warm air to come from the vents.

“How’re you doing,” Porthos asks as he holds his hands against a vent, enjoying the warm air.

“Good. I’m good. This isn’t bad.” Aramis is somewhat relaxed, but the thought of driving is still on his mind. This won’t be an easy task, but Porthos is right. He has to start facing his fears head on if he’s ever going to regain his lost confidence. “How about we go for a little drive around the lot?”

“Excellent idea. Just remember to take it easy.” He and Athos had worried about getting Aramis to actually drive today. Athos warned him before they left that Aramis might not even be able to shift the car out of park if he managed to turn the key. And Porthos agreed, knowing, like Athos, that Aramis’ lack of confidence is holding him back more than he realizes. He thought they’d be heading back home with a despondent Aramis, but as the younger man shifts the car out of park into drive and there’s a gentle push of the gas pedal, Porthos is glad they were wrong. And as they make a slow, gentle circle around the parking lot, Aramis’ hands clenching the steering wheel so tight they’re white, Porthos smiles. It’s not perfect, but a first attempt needn’t be. This is progress and he can’t wait to get home so that Aramis can tell Athos. And then they can coax Aramis into believing that this is important enough and that the Trevilles would care enough to hear about it.


	18. Stay With Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Athos and Aramis are caught in a building collapse. Aramis tries his best to keep calm and keep Athos with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some discussion of the death of a child in here from the massacre Aramis was in.

“No…, Athos. Pl… please don’t fall asleep,” Aramis pleads frantically, working to breath against the pain and weight on his chest. “Please…, stay with me…. Stay awake.” It does little good as Athos’ eyes droop closed. He’s been in and out since Aramis regained consciousness following the building collapse. 

“No, Athos.” Aramis can’t help the pained whine as he sees Athos go limp again. He’s tried several times over the last couple hours to keep Athos awake and rouse him enough that he could get up to check out their surroundings. Aramis himself is pinned underneath debris. The main weight is on his chest with his arms stuck underneath, painfully lying on his chest. His legs are partially free but he can hardly move them without a sharp pain running up them. He knows he’s bruised and cut and he doesn’t want to consider right now broken bones or internal injuries. The only good thing about his position is that with him lying on his back, his head is kept free of the dust that lines the floor.

From what he can make out in the pale light that’s shining in and how far he dares shift to look over, Athos is mostly free. There’s some stray pieces of debris on his legs, but nothing serious. There is blood trickling down his face and a bit of harshness to his breathing. Occasionally when he wakes, he mumbles something and Aramis thinks that he’s going to fully wake up, but then he drifts off again. 

And Porthos, he’s not anywhere near here. He drew the short straw on the liaison duty this quarter and was stuck doing paperwork when Athos and Aramis headed out to do some investigation for their current case. Surely, Aramis thinks, when they’re not back after another hour or two Porthos will realize that something’s gone wrong. Hopefully, it’s sooner because it’s getting dark and he feels his panic rising.

It’s been two years and some months since the massacre and a couple months since his last panic attack. He knows his triggers well and the coming nightfall is one that he dreads the most. 

“Okay,” he breathes out. “I can do this. It’s just night trapped underneath a pile of this fucking building.” He can feel his rising panic. “No…, no. This can’t happen now…, not here, not now.” He pauses. “Athos, please for f… fuck’s sake wake up…, damn it.” He shifts underneath the debris but it does nothing save for settling further and digging into him. He wheezes at the effort and swallows the pain. 

“I can get through. I have to.” His voice is barely a whisper. “Okay, Athos, let’s see what we have here. We’ll start with feeling. The bit of debris closest to me has nails in it, I think. I feel something sharp poking me and I really hope it hasn’t broken skin. I’m up to date on the tetanus but who knows what these nails are carrying. Could be something really dangerous. But let’s move on to other more exciting and interesting things. You still with me Athos? Remember that you got to stay with me. You and Porthos promised.”

Aramis returns to describing the layers of debris piled on top of him. He pauses increasingly often to breathe and cough. Every few sentences he checks in on Athos, growing more worried that he’s not responding anymore. When he’s not talking, he holds his own raspy breathing to listen for Athos’. It’s getting harder as time passes. He might pass out occasionally, but he’s not really sure, especially as dream and reality begin melding in the encroaching darkness.

“Athos, please,” he pleads weakly. “Y… you ha…ve to get…. up. I… I need your… help. You need help. Athos!” His yell costs him dearly, sending him into a coughing fit that’s complicated by the pile of debris on his body. “Damn… it, ‘thos.” 

Aramis works to pull his breathing under control as well as his rising panic. The building is dark and far too silent. For increasing seconds at a time, with the rush of familiar cold air and smells the coppery blood, he feels the sand underneath him. 

“No, no.” He’s angry with himself, with Athos and wonders where the hell Porthos and Treville are. They promised to never leave him. “’ave to focus… Fo…cus.” He breathes carefully and curses Athos again when his chest continues to burn. “On…to…sight..., then. Can’t see… a fucking… thing…, ‘thos.” Aramis pauses, closes his eyes, maybe passes out. When he opens his eyes again, it’s darker than before and Athos still doesn’t answer him.

“Sound,” he says with a heavy sigh. He doesn’t hear anything save for their breathing and it makes sense because in the desert he could only hear his own breathing and one of the children who lingered for far too long because Aramis didn’t, couldn’t end her suffering. 

He will die out here and so will she. 

He calls her name, tries to stretch a trapped arm to hold on to hers as she takes the last breaths of her life, and inwardly collapses when everything fails. 

He speaks to her, rambling, weak in force and spirit, as they both wait for the end. 

And then it goes darker and quiet.

He wakes to a frantic air and the feel of the ground moving beneath him. Porthos’ panicked voice is repeating something over and over and Aramis can only catch parts as he struggles to surface and piece together his haphazard senses.

“’thos. S’ay ‘ith me,” Aramis says but his ears don’t hear him. It’s just Porthos still. He tries to reach out, make some movement, repeat his plea but he’s stuck, still pinned. Something soft and warm against him. 

And then he’s gone again, his plea to Athos still on his silent lips.

“No, no, ‘Mis. You’ve got to stop moving. You have to stay still.” He vaguely registers the voice as Porthos’ but nothing more. Is he moving? He’s stuck and he’s tired of being stuck, pinned. His arms don’t want to move and his chest has a weight sitting on it, constricting his efforts to take a deep breath.

“Lieutenant d’Herblay, stop moving.” He knows that voice, that tone. How often had he heard in days past and it does the same that did them: make him pause because that’s a voice he respects, a tone that means the consequences will be worse if he doesn’t listen. 

“Good.” It’s the same voice, Treville. “Just remember that if we’re here, we’re looking out for you. No need to fight, okay. Just squeeze my hand, Aramis, if you’re understanding.”

Aramis does, tries but it’s hard.

“Good.” Treville uses that same tone. “Now, do you think you’re awake enough to open your eyes this time?”

“’his ‘ime?” His voice is rough, scratchy but it’s not the feeling of disuse.

“Careful with the talking, ‘Mis,” Porthos says. “Your throat is pretty raw right now.”

He opens his eyes slowly, blurry figures appearing in his line of sight, standing next to each other in front of him. One, two, and a third blink draws them into some focus. He knows already that it’s Porthos and Treville but he sees their exhaustion in the dark circles; greasy, unkempt hair; wrinkled, smelly clothing. 

Then he thinks. “’thos?... ‘here?... ‘ith me.” He’s moving again, working to find Athos because his voice isn’t strong enough but then his body isn’t either. He pleads with Porthos and Treville with his eyes. They put a calming hand on his arm and urge him to be still and quiet again.

“You need to be still,” Porthos says. He gently rubs a spot on Aramis’ hand. “You’re still recovering. Moving around’s going to make your injuries worse.”

“’thos,” Aramis forces out again.

“Stop. He’s right here. In the other bed. If you are careful, you can turn your head a bit to see him,” Treville explains. They stop him when he moves too quickly and talk him through moving his head. His neck is sore, head has a light pounding that he expects to grow. But there is Athos, lying still on the bed.

“’ow,” he asks.

“You in pain, Aramis? You’re on some strong painkillers, but they said they’d be weening you off to let you fully wake. I’ll go get the nurse.” Porthos is frantic in his explanation and Aramis hooks a weak finger around one of his to grab his attention.

“’ow… ‘urt?”

Porthos’ eyes widen in understanding. “Broken and bruised ribs and a bad concussion. He’s woken but not been fully alert yet.”

“’’ay… ‘ith… ‘e. ‘aid.”

“Yes, I know you kept telling him to stay with you. That’s why you can’t talk now. Your throat is raw from talking and coughing. Just rest. We have you and you’ll be fine.”

As they’re calming him, a doctor and nurse come in. He’s examined, poked and prodded gently as Porthos and Treville keep close watch. It’s uncomfortable, painful but he’s at ease because of their presence. He’s given another dose of pain medication before they leave and already he feels himself drifting.

More still, he feels Porthos and Treville near. They’ll make sure that Athos stays there. They’ll keep him safe.


	19. Seeking Warmth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Athos and Aramis take an unexpected cold dip into a pond. d'Artagnan and Porthos are left to take care of them.

It’s been a long, hard day for all four of them. It started badly with a major train delay that left them driving to work. As soon as they arrived, late, Treville sent them out to follow up on a lead that came in on their current case. It led them up north to a park and ended with d’Artagnan and Porthos fishing Athos and Aramis out of a frozen pond that wasn’t as frozen as they thought. As they worked, the heavy snow turned to freezing rain and left a layer of ice on everything as well as soaked their jackets.

When they got back to the station, after a stop at the ER to make sure Athos and Aramis were okay after their watery adventure, they were all cold and exhausted. Athos and Aramis were given dry scrubs and d’Artagnan and Porthos gave them their jackets, which were wet and cold, but not soaked like theirs. Given their state, Treville sent them home.

They step through the door with slow, lethargic steps, shivering despite the warmth of the train ride. Porthos knew they could get home sooner on the train than by driving.

“You two should go shower and get warm,” Porthos says, pointing to Athos and Aramis, who are both sitting on the bench by the door.

“Too cold to move,” Athos mutters. He’s leaning on Aramis, who’s leaning on the wall, eyes closed.

“You really need to get warm. The doctor already said both of you are liable to catch a chest cold,” d’Artagnan says.

“My bones are cold,” Aramis whines and tries to pull in on himself. Athos moans as his pillow shifts.

“Stop,” Athos says, leaning further into Aramis.

“I’ll take Athos, you take Aramis,” Porthos tells d’Artagnan.

“Sure. You better take Athos first. I’m not sure he’s going to let Aramis go otherwise,” d’Artagnan says, watching as Athos buries himself deeper into Aramis’ side.

Porthos nods, agreeing. “Let’s go, Athos. It’s time to shower.”

“I’m cold,” Athos says.

“I know. That’s why you need to shower. You’ll get warm.”

“Aramis is warm, comfortable.”

“No, he’s shivering just as much as you,” Porthos says. “And you want him to get warm, don’t you?”

“’Mis,” Athos asks.

“’thos?” Aramis sounds a little more alert than Athos, but just as exhausted.

“Are you cold?”

“To the bone.”

“You need to shower.”

“After you.”

“They could shower together,” d’Artagnan suggests. “It might go easier and quicker.”

“Tried it before and it doesn’t work. Let’s go, Athos,” Porthos says matter-of-factly, pulling Athos away from Aramis and gently to his feet. With their two hot water heaters, neither man would have to worry about saving hot water for the other. Porthos just hopes that the two, in their frozen stupor, realize this. “Make sure he stays in the shower for more than a few minutes,” Porthos says, looking back at d’Artagnan, who’s managed to get Aramis to his feet, though he’s a bit unsteady. “When he’s in this state, his military training kicks in and he’ll be in there long enough to get clean and nothing more. Might even take a cold shower.”

“Really?”

“I’ve seen him do it. Sent him back in to take a longer, warmer shower. You might want to sit in there, too. Especially with how unsteady he is.”

“Got it.” d’Artagnan nods as he continues prodding Aramis along behind the others. Once upstairs, they separate. Porthos pushes Athos down to his bedroom and d’Artagnan guides Aramis into the main bathroom.

Both men sit in the steamy bathrooms keeping watch over their charges as they languidly shower. There’s some occasional prompting to stay awake, wash up, or keep themselves under the water. The shower, initially, wakes each more, but once the water is shut off, the energy seems to fade.

“Wrap this around your waist,” Porthos says, handing Athos a towel. He grabs the man’s robe as well, gently shoving Athos’ lethargic arms into it. After tying it, he guides Athos to sit on the toilet seat. With the bathroom door closed, the room is still warm with steam and Porthos knows it’ll help to warm Athos more. The shower only worked through the surface level chill. It’s going to take much of the night to get through to the bone. As Athos sits, Porthos takes another towel to dry the majority of the water from his hair.

“Do you have a blow dryer,” Porthos asks, taking a break from his hair-drying efforts.

“Hmm?” Athos looks up lazily, eyelids drooping easily.

“Blow dryer, Athos. Do you have one? I want to get the rest of the wetness out of your hair so we don’t slide back on getting you warm.”

“Down.” Athos points tiredly to the bottom of the vanity. Porthos leaves the towel on the man’s head to look, coming back with a rather old looking hair dryer. Athos sits patiently, shivering on occasion as the heat from the steam dissipates, as Porthos finishes drying his thick hair with the blow dryer.

“I’m going to take this to Aramis and d’Artagnan,” Porthos says, once he’s satisfied with how dry Athos’ hair is. “Why don’t you work on finding some warm clothes?” He guides the man to his closet, hoping that while he goes to the others, he’ll find something decent.

Porthos knocks gently on the main bathroom door, waiting as he listens to d’Artagnan telling Aramis to stay where he is and that there’s nothing wrong. Porthos curses under his breath, realizing now that this event would’ve put Aramis on edge.

“Yeah,” d’Artagnan says, poking his head out the door.

“How’s it going?”

“Have a look.” d’Artagnan opens the door to show Aramis sitting on the toilet seat, a towel around his waist and one on his shoulders. There’s another in his lap, which Porthos thinks might’ve been used to attempt to dry his hair, which is just as thick as Athos’ and infinitely more unruly. Now, however, his hair is mostly plastered to his head. Aramis has a disgruntled look on his face and d’Artagnan looks just short of exasperated.

“Are you cooperating, Aramis?” Porthos sees that Aramis is just as tired looking as Athos and still cold.

“Headache,” Aramis says.

“I had no idea until I started trying to dry his hair. Then he went pale and threw up in the trash can,” d’Artagnan explains.

“I thought I recognized that smell. The doctor did say you had a mild concussion from hitting your head going in the water. But you do need to get your hair dry, ‘Mis,” Porthos says gently.

“Hurts,” Aramis reiterates with a noticeable whine.

“I know. But d’Artagnan will be gentle.” Porthos turns to d’Artagnan. “Once you get the worst of the water out, use this.” He holds up the blow dryer. d’Artagnan gives him a puzzled look. “It’s Athos’. I don’t know why, but I’m glad he had one. It’ll help to keep the chill off them. We’re going to be spending a good part of the night getting them warm.”

“Right.” d’Artagnan nods and takes the blow dryer. “How’s Athos?”

“’Bout the same as him. Tired, cold. I left him finding some warm clothes, which I hope he’s done. I should get back. Give a shout if you need help. Once we get them dressed, we’ll leave them in Athos’ room while we get changed.”

d’Artagnan agrees and the two go back to their charges.

Back in Athos’ room, Porthos finds that he’s found some clothes, but they’ll hardly get him warm. Without speaking, he finds a pair of sweats, an undershirt, a long-sleeved shirt, and a thick sweater, handing the stack to Athos, who did manage to get boxers on at the very least. While Athos slowly dresses, Porthos finds him some socks and puts them on as Athos works on the series of tops. It’s slow going thanks to the bruising finally settling in. In the end, he also helps Athos to get the sweater on, when it proves to be difficult for his tired brain to sort out.

“Wait here, Athos,” Porthos says. Athos is sitting on the edge of the bed. “I’m going to go help d’Artagnan with Aramis.”

“I can help,” Athos says.

“I know. But I’ll get it. You just curl up on the bed for now.” He eases Athos down to lay on his side and grabs a blanket from the end of the bed to throw over him. “Once he’s done, I’ll bring him in here, okay.”

“Okay.” Athos nods as he pulls the blanket around himself.

Porthos finds d’Artagnan and Aramis in the latter’s bedroom, with Aramis sitting on the bed, dressed in sweatpants and d’Artagnan struggling to get a shirt on him.

“Hey, ‘Mis,” Porthos says calmly, “why don’t you help d’Artagnan by raising your arms.”

“Hurts,” Aramis says. Like Athos, Aramis is starting bruise and the heat from the shower is quickly leaking from the muscles, letting them stiffen up.

“I know, but please just put out your arms. We’ll get the rest.”

When Aramis complies, Porthos takes the t-shirt and puts it on his arms, working to gently ease it over his head and down his abdomen with the least amount of movement required by Aramis.

“He has a thick flannel and zipper hoodie in his closet. Can you find them,” Porthos asks d’Artagnan. “He’s not going to be able to get anything else on with how fast the stiffness is starting.” It doesn’t take d’Artagnan long to return with the items in hand. By then, Porthos has socks on Aramis.

“Let’s get you standing,” Porthos says.

Aramis shakes his head.

“This’ll be much easier, Aramis,” d’Artagnan says.

“Listen to the Pup,” Porthos says, which earns him a glare from d’Artagnan, who’s never liked that nickname. “Stand up and we’ll get you dressed in something warm. Then you can go lay on Athos’ bed while we get changed.”

“How’s Athos,” Aramis asks.

“He’s cold and tired, much like you. Now, come on. To your feet and you’ll be able to see for yourself.” Porthos gives Aramis a light pull up until he’s on his feet. Between him and d’Artagnan, they finish getting Aramis dressed in the flannel and hoodie. They take him to Athos’ room and let him find a spot on the bed close to Athos. Porthos tosses another blanket on them and then he and d’Artagnan go get in warm clothes themselves.

Once dressed in warm clothes for the first time in several hours, they disentangle, Aramis and Athos, the two are ushered to the den downstairs where Porthos leaves d’Artagnan in charge of getting the room warm and helping them to get comfortable. Porthos himself goes to the kitchen to get hot chocolate going. He dumps a couple jars of Aramis’ chicken noodle soup into a pot to warm and gets busy making a plate of grilled cheese and ham sandwiches. Everything they’ll eat tonight will be warm. Even he’s starting to feel the chill in his bones and he wasn’t anywhere near as wet at Athos and Aramis. d’Artagnan, himself, with his thinner frame must be feeling colder than him.

When the sandwiches are done, he cuts them into single bite pieces, knowing that Athos and Aramis will do best with smaller pieces that are easier to eat and make less of a mess. He can also get them to eat more when they don’t realize how much of a full sandwich they’re eating. The soup he leaves in the pot, planning to use a trivet and stick the whole thing on the coffee table so they can ladle out what they want into large mugs. He wants no excuses for them all to get warm food in them, especially Athos and Aramis. This won’t ward off any illnesses that are settling, but it will ease part of their discomfort.

As he brings the food and dishes into the den, he sees that the fireplace is going which has done wonders in warming up the room. Athos and Aramis are on the couch in much the same position as they were at the front door. d’Artagnan has a couple blankets on them, including the electric blanket.

“You might want to start to rouse them,” Porthos says. “I have the food ready.”

When he brings in a pitcher of water and four glasses, Athos and Aramis are awake, but neither looks pleased nor like they’ll be awake for long.

“Okay, the deal is, you each eat at least two ladles of soup, eight pieces of the sandwiches, drink a glass of water, and a mug of hot chocolate, then you can go back to dozing.” Porthos is firm but kind in his command. He knows how to deal with these two, well-accustomed to doing it on his own. Athos and Aramis, knowing that tone, nod without protest. They disentangle themselves from the blankets and each other to sit up and take the food from Porthos. d’Artagnan and Porthos serve themselves and take a seat on the couch and in the armchair.

Dinner is quiet with just the sound of slurping, sipping, and the crackling fire. When Athos and Aramis have eaten their required quota, plus a couple extra pieces of the sandwich each, d’Artagnan takes the dishes back to the kitchen and leaves Porthos to help them get settled back in. He helps Porthos in cleaning up before they both settle back into their spots on the couch and armchair, with a blanket each. Porthos turns on the TV, turning to an oldies channel where I Love Lucy is playing and they settle in for a night of looking after Athos and Aramis, waiting for the bone chill to be replaced by a feverish chill and a raspy, wet cough. It’s going to be a long week coming up for them all.


	20. Here We Go A-Caroling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trio is out caroling to raise money for charity but Aramis is finding the car rather warm.

He is wearing too many layers and with the heat in the car it is far too hot to be comfortable. Worse yet, they still have another neighborhood to go to, another couple dozen houses to sing carols at.

“You okay over there, ‘Mis,” Porthos asks. He is at the wheel dealing with the snow and traffic to get them to their last set of houses. Athos is in the back seat playing navigator with his phone to make sure they get to the right neighborhoods. Meanwhile, Aramis is in the front passenger seat, reclining a bit because it eases the pressure on his aching ribs.

“Yeah.” Aramis sighs, wishing that he could convince them to turn the heater off. It’s blasting because they’re worried about him catching another chest cold this season, especially given his cracked ribs thanks to him tackling one of their suspects earlier this week.

“You sure?” Athos leans forward to look at Aramis. He’s bundled up in three layers, not including the long johns that were an early Christmas gift from Treville.

“Yeah. It’s just not the best time to have to do this.”

“But we are raising a lot of money, even with you not able to fully sing,” Porthos says, turning into the next subdivision. The Musketeers have an annual Christmas caroling competition between the teams to see who can raise the most for charity. Each team is assigned a different set of neighborhoods and has to have their caroling completed by Christmas Eve.

“Part of that is to get me to shut up so they don’t have to hear me trying,” Aramis says, shifting in his seat to find a more comfortable position.

“No, I think it’s out of pity when you can’t catch your breath after holding a long note,” Porthos says lightly.

“It’s not my fault.” Aramis doesn’t want to pout because he’d been looking forward to this night. While he does like singing, he likes singing for charity even more, but tonight was not the best night with the snow, cold, and aching ribs. This is his first year participating and he hopes he can help boost Athos and Porthos higher up on the list. The winning team gets a few extra days of vacation.

“It’s alright, ‘Mis,” Athos says, running a quick hand over the man’s neck to calm him. “We understand and don’t want you to hurt yourself. If you can’t hold the note, then don’t try.”

“I’m glad you came out with us, Aramis,” Porthos says. “But I didn’t expect you to. Thought you might take the Trevilles up on their offer to spend the night with them.” Aramis has had a good year. He’s done with his probation and his mental health is much improved but he still doesn’t do well with solitude, especially during the holidays.

“Yes, you make this caroling thing much better than just me and Porthos singing,” Athos says. 

Aramis pauses. “Thank you, both of you.” Showing gratitude for such praise is still foreign to him but it is something Lemay has stressed is important for him to do. “I will admit that despite these ribs, I am having a good time myself.”

“Good because we’re at the next string of houses.” Porthos parks the car on the side of the street and turns it off. “We’ll park here and walk to the houses.”

Aramis holds in his relieved sigh at getting a good chance to get some fresh air. It will be cold, but it might help the growing queasiness in his stomach.

“You good with walking a bit, Aramis,” Porthos asks.

“Yeah. Some fresh air sounds good.”

“A little warm in all of those layers?”

“Just a bit.” Aramis gets out of the car slowly with the others there waiting to steady him if needed. The longer he walks, the better he feels about being too warm, but the singing is starting to hurt his chest. At the last couple houses he can’t find the breath to properly sing. He manages something weak and pathetic, he imagines if he were the only one singing. Fortunately, the people they visit don’t take notice but Athos and Porthos do. The moment they make their final collection and thank the family, they usher him back to the car.

He’s back in the front seat, the heat blasting once again. As the miles go by he finds himself drifting more as the queasiness returns, ebbing and flowing out of synch with his aching ribs. He mumbles some weak reassurances that he’s okay when they ask but feels the car speed up nonetheless.

He doesn’t realize when they’re back until the car door opens and he nearly tumbles out reaching for the cool air.

“Aramis,” Athos asks, catching him before he hits the ground. Porthos rushes to help.

“What happened,” Porthos asks.

“I don’t know. He just tumbled out as soon as I opened the door,” Athos explains. “Aramis, come on, wake up.”

Aramis mumbles and tries to open his eyes. “’thos?”

“What’s wrong? Are you sick? Hurt?”

“Hot and hurt.”

“Hot?” Athos looks to Porthos.

It’s then that it hits Porthos. “He’s wearing four layers, Athos, and sitting right in front of the heaters on full blast. He’s far too hot, probably feeling sick.”

To emphasize Porthos’ point, Aramis chooses that moment to throw up, narrowly avoiding their shoes. Porthos pulls Aramis out of the car and sits him on a nearby stool in the closed garage. He then starts unzipping and removing the layers. Aramis is quiet, red-faced, sweaty, and breathing heavily as he works to strip him. Once they have him down to his jeans and a t-shirt, they help him in, supporting him. They leave the pile of jackets and clothing behind.

Porthos sets him in the den while Athos runs up to get some lighter clothes. When Athos returns with a pair of sweats and a cool, wet washcloth, Porthos has Aramis stripped to his boxers, the long johns in a pile on the floor. Quickly and without complaint from him, Aramis is dressed in the sweats and back in the t-shirt, then laid out on the couch with the washcloth on his forehead to help him cool down.

“How’re you feeling,” Porthos asks as he helps Aramis to sit up to drink some water. Athos adds another pillow underneath him while he’s up.

“Sick but better.” Aramis’ voice is weak from the overheating.

“Good. You feel like eating?”

“Not really.”

“How about some fruit? It’s already cut up. Bite-size pieces that you can eat with your fingers.”

“You need to get something in your stomach before you take ibuprofen,” Athos says.

Aramis nods his head. “I can try.” He wants the pain relief more than the food but he understands the need to eat something.

“That’s enough for me.”

“Me too,” Porthos adds. “Now let’s get you sitting up so you can eat this better.” Porthos, always ready with the food, has a bowl of cut-up fruit in hand. He sets it aside, helping Athos to get Aramis sitting up. It’s more leaning than sitting, but it works. Porthos takes a seat next to him, holding the fruit bowl so Aramis can focus on just eating and not trying to hold on to the dish. Athos leans up against the couch on the floor near Aramis, waiting if he needs to help.

Aramis eats the fruit slowly, but steadily.

“Why didn’t you tell us you were too hot,” Porthos asks after a while.

Aramis shrugs his shoulders. “I thought it was fine. Thought I could handle it.”

“What about on the ride back?”

“Didn’t even realize it was happening again.”

“Your ribs,” Porthos says. “They were hurting before we even finished with the houses. Between that and the heat, you never really stood a chance.”

“Probably should’ve stayed with the Trevilles,” Athos says calmly,

“Probably,” Aramis agrees, leaning his head against the couch. “But I had fun tonight. Despite the aches and overheating, I had a good time. I’m happy I went out, spent some time with the two of you. It’s been a good year and I didn’t want to ruin it with staying home.”

“One night doesn’t ruin a year, ‘Mis,” Porthos says. Athos stands to sit on the armrest of the couch so he can better see Aramis.

“I know.” Aramis pauses. He licks his lips, thinking. “You two have helped me so much, I wanted to do what I could to get you two the extra vacation days. You could both use them to take some time to yourself, go out of town or see family, if you want.”

“’Mis, we need nothing in return for helping you. We’re happy to and do so without expectations.”

“And,” Athos begins, “if we get those extra vacation days, us three are going somewhere because you two are my family, my brothers and I’ll go nowhere without you two.”

“I second that,” Porthos says, running a gentle hand through Aramis’ hair. It’s grown long again, but nowhere near as bad as last time and is kept up well. “We go somewhere together or we stay here, if we get those days.”

“Really,” Aramis questions.

“Really.”

Aramis nods his head, thinking again. “I would be overjoyed to take a trip with the two of you. You’ve done so much more than any friend has. You’re not even friends anymore. You’re… you’re brothers, siblings that I would be honored and proud to welcome into my family and trust with their safety.”

“I’m happy that you can put your trust in us now,” Porthos says.

“Likewise,” Athos says. “And know, we’ll never let you down.”

“Never.”

“I know,” Aramis says calmly. “I know.”

“You feeling better,” Porthos asks.

“Some. Still sore.”

Athos quickly gets him some medicine for his pain and the three settle in on the couch, with Aramis’ feet in Porthos’ lap and his head in Athos’ and a blanket tossed over him. The TV is on, playing a movie that all are only half paying attention to. Aramis is nearly asleep while Porthos and Athos are still in awe of the big shift in their friendship tonight. It is the moment they were waiting for and after so long, they thought it wouldn’t come. But it did and it is the best Christmas present either could receive.


	21. Snowed In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The quartet plans to keep the kids and dogs while Treville and Sarah take a trip but then a blizzard strikes. How will they spend the weekend stuck in the house with four adults, three kids, and two dogs?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In many ways, nothing much happens in this story. It should be longer, but it was already longer than I'd planned on. So, it's a fluffy story with some fun moments between the Musketeers and the kids. Please enjoy and have a good day or holiday, if you celebrate something around this time

Athos, Aramis, Porthos, and d’Artagnan originally set up their extra vacation days won during the Christmas carol charity event to coincide with the Trevilles’ children’s spring break in early March. Due to their injuries, d’Artagnan and Aramis couldn’t go caroling, but the sympathy they got from people asking where the rest of the team was made up for their absence. Athos’ team brought in more in donations than any previous year. Their plans were to look after the children for an extended weekend so Treville and Sarah could take a quick trip out of town. What they hadn’t planned on was the blizzard that hit that same weekend.

Porthos and d’Artagnan go out a few days before to pick up a few supplies, but unlike most households, they’re well stocked between Porthos’ and Aramis’ cooking. Athos also insists that they be well stocked.

Friday, after school, the children get off a bus near Athos’ house. Sarah talked with the school earlier in the week to let them know they’d be staying with their uncles for the weekend. Each of them is on the approved guardian list for emergencies. Earlier in the day, Sarah came by with the boys’ clothes. She also brought Meg by then as the young girl is not old enough yet for school and dropped off Freddie and Gracie. Sarah and Treville plan to get on the road before the snow starts and traffic gets bad. The five, with Porthos holding a well-bundled up Meg, go to pick up the boys arriving at the bus stop just when the snow begins to fall. d’Artagnan and Athos each have one of the dogs. They wait several feet away from the bus to keep the dogs away from the number of students getting off.

“Aramis,” Ben yells, climbing down the steps. Right behind him is Tim, who at a couple years older, is more subdued in his excitement but it’s clear still from the big smile on his face that he’s happy to see his uncles. Once on the ground, Ben makes a b-line to jump into Aramis’ outstretched arms while Tim goes to Athos, who matches him with a subdued, but clearly happy, greeting.

Tim and Ben make the rounds of greeting each of them with Porthos passing off Meg, in the end, to be able to grab both kids in a big hug.

“They said on the news that it’s gonna snow,” Ben says as they get started walking back to Athos’ house.

“They were calling it a blizzard,” Tim adds, a bit of worry in his voice.

“Are we going to get stuck,” Meg asks from d’Artagnan’s grasp. He kept hold of her after Porthos handed her off and gave Freddie’s leash to Aramis.

“We might, but that’s okay because we have plenty of things to keep us safe,” Athos says.

“Yeah, we’re well stocked up,” Porthos says. “We have enough food in case we get snowed in.”

“And the generator has enough gas,” Aramis adds.

“We have plenty of candles and blankets,” d’Artagnan says.

“See, we’ll be fine. Nothing to worry about,” Athos says. “And even more important, we have each other, so we’ll be safe.”

“What about mom and dad,” Ben asks.

“Well, they’re driving down to Memphis where this will all be rain instead of snow and they headed out about an hour ago, so they’ll miss the worst of the storm,” Porthos says.

They continue talking, the two boys excitedly telling them about their day at school. When they get home, d’Artagnan works on drying to dogs off, while the others each take one of the kids to help them get out of their jackets and boots.

“How does some hot chocolate and fresh cookies sound,” Porthos asks. The children jump up and down, excitedly saying yes in response. “Let’s all head in then. I’ll get the chocolate going and Aramis can get the cookies in the oven. If we time it right, they’ll be ready at the same time.”

“I wanna help,” Meg says as they walk in from the garage.

“Me too,” Ben adds.

“How about we do this,” Aramis says. “Tim can help Porthos with the hot chocolate and the two of you can help me get the cookies on the trays.”

They nod excitedly.

“What kind of cookies did you make,” Tim asks.

“My specialty. Dark chocolate, peanut butter, oatmeal cookies. Can you go set the oven to 375 while I get the cookies out.” At ten, Tim has spent hours baking with Aramis in the kitchen and is well familiar with how to work the various appliances as well as how to be careful. Ben and Meg are good kids, but there’s no way Aramis would trust them to safely turn on the oven.

Athos and d’Artagnan clean up the jackets and boots in the garage while the others get the afternoon snack together. Tim helps pour out ingredients for the hot chocolate while Aramis helps Ben and Meg to wash up before handing each a spoon to start scooping out the dough and drop the rough balls on the cookie sheets. He watches and helps to make sure the cookies are evenly spaced. When the trays are full, he puts them in the oven.

“Don’t eat the batter,” he lightly scolds Ben and Meg when he turns back to see them eating the remaining batter. There’s not enough for a full cookie but apparently enough for eating. As the cookies bake, Aramis cleans up while Ben and Meg chatter away at the island. Porthos pulls out dishes for the chocolate and cookies.

When the cookies are done, Aramis pulls them out and carefully pulls the cookies off the tray to cool on racks. When they’re cool enough, he lets Ben and Meg put the cookies on a couple big plates. Meanwhile, Tim and Porthos dish up the, now ready, hot chocolate. Athos and d’Artagnan come in just time to join the others in eating the still-gooey cookies and drinking the chocolate.

When they’re done and the kitchen cleaned, they settle in for an evening of play. Porthos gets some dough ready for pizza later before joining them in watching TV and playing games.

That night, the children start out in the cots set up for them in each of their bedrooms, except for Athos, who has the two dogs in his bed. To his rather amused dismay, the dogs prefer to sleep with him at night. It leaves him with just a few inches of space in his queen-sized bed because he doesn’t have the heart to make them move, something that Porthos finds quite amusing. A few hours into sleeping, about an hour after the men have gone to bed, when the winds kick up, each of them, d’Artagnan, Porthos, and Aramis find themselves sharing their beds with the child sleeping in their room.

After the initial surprise and moments spent comforting them, the night goes smoothly. First to awake are Aramis and Ben, both of whom head downstairs to get a big breakfast going. Aramis quickly stops by Athos’ room to get the dogs and take them out. The blizzard is still in full swing, so Aramis takes the dogs out on leashes both him and them bundled up against the harsh wind. Ben is inside with towels to dry off the dogs’ paws. Then they head into the kitchen, putting a bowl of food down for each dog.

“Okay, Ben, we’re making French toast this morning. How do you feel about getting the mixture put together,” Aramis asks.

“I can do that,” Ben says, nodding his head enthusiastically.

“Alright. I have the recipe here, but it’s for six slices of bread and we’re going to make two loaves. So, what do you need to do first?”

“Count the slices of bread!”

“Good. Why don’t we go wash our hands and then we’ll get started.”

They wash up and Aramis stands by as Ben counts the bread. He comes up with 32 slices.

“Now, to figure out how many times we need to multiply this recipe, we need to know what 32 divided by 6 is. Why don’t you use the back of the paper to figure that one out?” Earlier this year, when Tim was put in the advanced math, Aramis was quite pleased to know that he’d played some role in his knowledge of math. He’d worked with Tim in the kitchen like this, teaching him how to use the math he learned in school in practical ways, leading him to not only be able to do more complex math than his classmates and quicker but to love it more. He could double a recipe in his head now quite easily.

“It’s not even.”

“We need a number that can be divided by six, then. Let’s try a number a little higher.” As Ben works, Aramis pulls out the things they’ll need. By now he would’ve had the mix together and resting, but it’s important for Ben to learn how to do these things.

“Six, Aramis,” Ben announces proudly. “We multiply it by six.”

Aramis comes over to see what Ben’s done. “How’d you know to use 36 right away?”

“I’ve been working on my times tables,” he says. “Dad’s been working with me when he gets home.”

“Good job. Soon, you’re going to be right up there with Tim in math. Now, why don’t you work on multiplying these amounts by six.” Aramis points to the list of ingredients. While Ben goes to work, Aramis pulls out the fruit and starts getting on cutting it up. He gets it in pieces that are stable enough that Ben can carefully cut while he works on getting the other parts of breakfast going.

“All done, Aramis,” Ben says when he’s finished.

“Alright, let’s see what you have.” Aramis looks over the work Ben’s done. “Looks good and you’ve even got the half cups and quarter teaspoons taken care of.”

“Tim showed me how to do that a while ago when we were helping mom make cookies.”

“That was very nice of him. You think you can get all of those eggs safely cracked in this big bowl here?”

Ben nods his head, a smile on his face.

“Good. Remember to be gentle and make sure you don’t get any of the shells in there. I’m going to get the ham cut up for the eggs, but let me know if you run into trouble.”

“Okay.” Ben steps up on the footstool they keep in the kitchen and starts cracking eggs. Aramis has him set up at the island and is carefully keeping an eye on the boy’s progress.

Once Ben has the eggs in the bowl, Aramis gets him the measuring cup and helps him to pour out the milk. The gallon size is too big for the seven-year-old to safely lift. Aramis waits though, letting Ben tell him how much to pour and when to stop. He also lets him pour the measured milk into the bowl.

Aramis is getting him set up with a whisk to start beating the eggs when Porthos and Meg come down.

“You’re cooking,” Meg nearly yells, running into the kitchen. Porthos and Aramis call out at the same time to tell her not to run in the kitchen. “Sorry. Can I help?

“Well, let me see what we have left.” Aramis looks around the kitchen. “Ben is working on the French Toast and he’s got that under control. How do you feel about cracking some eggs for scrambled eggs?”

“I can do that!”

“Porthos, do you mind helping her with it?” Meg, at three, is just getting used to doing things in the kitchen. Thanks to her uncles and her two older brothers, she’s learned a lot of things already, but Aramis is a bit worried about her cracking eggs without making too much of a mess. “You can keep an eye on her while you grate the cheese.”

“I’ll get the taller footstool.” Porthos goes to the pantry to find the stool and finds Meg ready to climb up on it when he comes back. They wash up then he makes sure that the stool is steady enough before allowing her up.

“How many eggs, ‘Mis,” she asks from atop the stool.

“I think ten eggs will work. Why don’t you count ten from the carton and put them in this little dish here? Then you can take from there and crack them into this bowl.” Aramis sets the carton of eggs next to her and leaves watching her to Porthos.

“How’re you doing here,” Aramis asks Ben.

“It’s a lot of eggs to smash up.”

“Let me see what it looks like.” Aramis looks into the bowl when Ben steps back to let him look. “Looks good but it still needs more mixing.” Ben goes back to mixing and Aramis starts getting the bacon going. Sometime after that d’Artagnan and Tim join them.

“I can start cutting the fruit,” Tim offers, seeing the bowl still sitting there.

“Sounds good,” Aramis says. “d’Artagnan, you awake enough to help him?”

“Yeah,” d’Artagnan answers with a yawn. After washing up, the two of them get started on the large bowl of fruit in the last free area of the island.

“You about done there, Ben,” Aramis asks once he’s gotten the bacon done. “It’s time to start cooking up the toast.”

“Yeah. I think I got it. How does it look?” Ben hands the whisk off to Aramis, knowing the routine. Aramis stirs it a little to check the consistency.

“Excellent job, Ben,” Aramis says. “Let’s get that stool moved over to the stove. The griddle should be warm enough by the time we get set up.”

Ben steps down and nudges the stool over with his feet. Then he grabs his recipe while Aramis brings over the egg mix. They get the bread moved and then Aramis lifts Ben up to search through the spice cabinet for cinnamon.

“Alright, are you ready to get started,” Aramis asks Ben when they have their supplies ready.

“Yep.” He nods his head.

“Okay. Now, what are the stove rules?”

“Roll up your sleeves to keep them away from the fire. Don’t lift any pan. Ask an adult instead. Don’t touch any pans and don’t reach over a pan for anything. And when in doubt, don’t hesitate to ask!” Ben lists the rules off enthusiastically. He’s been taught these rules for several years now. It’s not the first time he’s been at the stove, but he hasn’t worked with the griddle before and he knows that Aramis just wants to make sure he stays safe.

“Perfect. Now, make sure you always keep one hand clean of the mixture. Pick up one of the slices and lay it flat in the mixture.” Aramis talks Ben through the steps for the first couple slices then watches as Ben does another couple. “You should be able to get two more on here, then you can step down and wash up. Okay?”

Ben nods and continues getting the toast together. Each of them continues working on getting their part of breakfast together. Porthos guides Meg on whisking up the eggs once she’s done cracking them. d’Artagnan and Tim get the dishes together that they’ll need and set the table. Aramis keeps an eye on Ben as he works, guiding him through flipping the toast. He then keeps working on batch after batch, setting them on cookie trays that Aramis puts in the warmed oven. Aramis is just handing Meg the bowl of diced ham to mix in with the eggs when Athos walks in.

“Looks like there’s a party going on down here,” he says.

“It’s breakfast,” Meg says dumping the ham in the bowl. Porthos makes sure that the bowl is close enough to the eggs that it doesn’t splash up.

“And it smells delicious. What are you up to here?”

“Scrambled eggs!”

“Mmm. One of my favorites. Where can I help?”

“We already set the table,” Tim says with a teasing smirk.

“I’ll have you know, I can do more than just that.”

“The fruit’s cut up too,” d’Artagnan teases.

“Why don’t you get the drinks put together,” Porthos suggests before Athos can comment. He knows the other man isn’t angry about their teasing. Athos has long come to terms with his inability to cook or bake.

As Athos gets the drinks together, Aramis starts cooking up the eggs and ham. Ben puts on the last batch of French toast. Porthos pulls the trays from the oven and guides Meg on using tongs to move them over to a couple plates. When the eggs are done, the cheese nicely melted, Ben is pulling off the last piece of toast.

“I’ll get things shut off here,” Aramis says. “Why don’t you start helping them get everything onto the table.” Within minutes, they’re sitting down around the table, which has been stretched out with the hidden leaf in the middle to accommodate the three extra eaters.

Porthos helps Meg to get food and cuts up her toast. While Ben can reach most things, Tim is nearby to help when his younger brother asks. Athos makes sure that each of the kids has a good bowl of fruit. They’re not averse to eating it but they don’t always know what is a serving size for them.

“So, what’re we doing today,” Tim asks as breakfast is winding down.

“Well, I don’t think this blizzard is letting up for the day, so we’re stuck inside,” Athos says.

“After we clean up the kitchen and get cleaned up ourselves, we could come back down to the den and make a fort. Then we could watch some movies, play some games.”

“Can we play the detective game,” Ben asks.

“I think we can work up a story, if you three can play together for a bit,” Athos says.

“For the detective game we definitely will!”

“Then once we get the fort put together, we’ll start working on the game.”

The detective game is something Porthos and Athos started with Tim and continued with the others. They make up a story and plant different clues that the kids have to work together to figure out and solve the mystery. Every time they stay the night, they want to play and today is the perfect day for it.

The children cheer at the news of getting to play detectives.

“Let’s get this mess here cleaned up,” Aramis says. “The sooner we get done, the sooner you three can become the greatest kid detectives known to man.”


	22. The Driving Problem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A week into their partnership, Porthos discovers Athos' driving problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one’s a bit different from the others. There’s no Aramis because it’s from the early days of Athos’ and Porthos’ partnership on the task force.

“I’m not getting back in the car with him, Captain,” Porthos says, pushing open the door to Treville’s office without knocking. “He’s a menace on the road. I don’t even know how he passed his police driving exam.”

“I told you, du Vallon, I didn’t want to drive,” Athos says, annoyed, as he follows Porthos in. They have been teammates for a week and today is the first day Athos has had to drive. Athos is new to the Musketeers and still a cadet. Having been a police officer prior to being offered a position on the task force, Porthos is not considered a cadet. He also had his Masters nearly complete upon acceptance, unlike Athos who is in his first semester.

The Musketeers themselves are a new with only a year of active service. Many of the kinks in the program are being worked out but it has so far proven to be a success. They’ve solved a couple cold cases and one active. Their manpower is low thanks to Treville’s high standards but he has confidence in each man’s demeanor and capabilities. As he told Louis and Richelieu when he accepted the position, if this task force is to be better than the police, smarter and more aware of social nuances, then he’s going to be selective about who he takes. As payback for his efforts, Richelieu has procured for them the old Dearborn Station, a brick building that has recently spent more years unused than used. It’s cold and drafty. Some improvements have been made, but there’s much work to be done. Treville has been promised that if they continue to show the same success rate, they’ll get these improvements. He knows this is more Richelieu’s doing than Louis’. No other government entity in the city has to show success for structural improvements.

Treville sighs when his newest team comes in. He has a good feeling that they’ll work out but the adjustment period has been terrible for not just him but the whole office. Both have clear drive to do well but their methods and attitudes are different. Athos’ main interaction with law enforcement comes from seeing his ex-wife sentenced to life in prison for her lead role in a drug ring that caused the city a lot of money and lives. The man is naturally taciturn and is currently working through a bout of depression following the end of his marriage and death of his brother. Treville is understanding of mental illness and has given Athos time to get it under control but he’s on limited duties until he receives psychiatric approval. He’s pleased that the young man has been working with a psychiatrist willingly and hopes that it will work because he shows promise as an investigator.

“If he didn’t want to drive, then why did you have him?” Treville feels like he’s dealing with children some days.

“It’s what a team does. They share the tasks like driving,” Porthos explains. “I didn’t know that he hates driving so much he drives like a maniac.”

“Hey, you pulled me over three times for speeding. That should’ve said something,” Athos retorts.

“A lot of people speed. Doesn’t mean they loathe driving. How’ve you not been in accidents? The way you drive, there’s nothing defensive about it.” In the week that he’s worked with Athos, Porthos suspects that no one, no car would dare run into Athos with that glare. If he can make it out of the cadet phase, he’ll be a great interrogator with his silent patience and natural gruff look.

“Because that kind of driving doesn’t get you anywhere.”

“That kind of driving nearly got us t-boned downtown.”

“Wait,” Treville says. “What were you two doing downtown? You had no reason to be anywhere near there.”

“Mr. Grumpy here decided it would be the fastest way to get back here.” Porthos points to Athos.

“It would’ve been faster if it weren’t for the traffic jam,” Athos says.

“That’s normal traffic, Athos. Anyone knows that you don’t drive in downtown Chicago on a Friday afternoon.”

“You put me in charge of driving, du Vallon.”

“The name is Porthos, de la Fere.” Porthos tries to hold back his growl of annoyance but he’s not terribly successful. Still, it doesn’t wipe the irritated look off of Athos’ face. The man is a menace, he thinks.

“That’s your call sign, nothing else. You have a real name and I’m sticking to it.” It feels too much like the game of cloaks and daggers his marriage had become.

“So you don’t want to be called Athos?”

“I don’t have a choice in it.”

For a moment Porthos regrets his words. Athos doesn’t have much of a choice thanks to his name appearing in the records that put away his ex-wife. In the station, they could call him de la Fere or even Olivier, if any of them felt like getting taken to the mat, but out on the streets, around suspects it’s Athos.

“Shut it, the both of you,” Treville says, exasperated. “Now, you know why you both have call signs. And you better get used to using them all of the time. No sense in getting caught off guard.”

Treville gets up and moves to the front of his desk, leaning against it. “While Athos did pass the driving test, I have read the report and recommend that until he can get his driving under better control, Porthos, that you drive. Find a different way to divide up the tasks.”

“Yes, sir,” Porthos says.

“And Athos, I suggest that you find someone to teach you to tamper your driving. You’re not a civilian anymore. You need to be a better, safer driver. I’m going to put you up for the driving test again at the end of the year and if I don’t get a better report back, then you’re out of the program.”

“I understand,” Athos says.

“Good. Now, I want to see the two of you doing more to work together. I don’t have many officers and can’t afford to keep shuffling teams around. Okay?”

“Yes, Captain,” the two say at nearly the same time.

“There’s still a few hours left in the workday. Try to make some headway on one of the cold cases.”

“Will do,” Porthos says.

As the two are leaving, Treville hears Porthos speak quietly to Athos.

“I can help you with the driving, if you want. I worked as a driving instructor in college.”

“Thank you. I may take you up on that offer,” Athos says. “I can’t lose this job.”


	23. A Heartfelt Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Treville reflects back on Aramis' first Christmas with them and the gift Ben gave him.

It’s late in the day, near evening when the Trevilles and the Inseparables sit in the Trevilles’ living room. The fire is going, the sun nearly set, Christmas lights on, and presents opened. Sarah, with Aramis’ help, is putting together some snacks and drinks.

“What’s on your mind, Captain,” Porthos asks. He notices that Treville has been silent for a while, staring at the fire crackling.

“It’s been five years,” Treville says.

“Five years,” d’Artagnan asks. Meg is sitting on his lap playing with a few action figures she got this morning.

“Since I showed up on his doorstep looking for help,” Aramis says, walking in with a plate of snacks in each hand. Sarah is behind him with another plate and a stack of plates.

“That was quite a time,” she says before returning to the kitchen with Aramis for the rest of the evening’s snacks and drinks.

“What happened,” d’Artagnan asks.

“That’s a story for a different time,” Treville says. He waits until Aramis and Sarah are back. The children quickly get up to get food and drinks and Treville steps in to help make sure they don’t spill. Then it’s the adults and when they’re back to sitting down, idly eating, he asks Aramis a question. “Do you remember your first Christmas with us, Aramis?”

“Parts of it,” he says, taking a sip of his pineapple and 7-up drink mix. He knows that he’d been very sick then, with pneumonia on top of his other illnesses. Nothing was under control. He spent much of his time not really there. But he does remember Ben and Athos as bright spots as well as Treville and Sarah.

“I can’t imagine that you would remember it,” Treville says. “Are you okay with me talking about it?”

“Sure.” His quick answer surprises Treville.

“If you don’t want me to, I’ll leave it and we’ll talk about our plans for New Year’s.”

“No, it’s fine. I’d kind of like to know what happened,” Aramis says.

“Tim, you probably remember a lot of this.”

“Some. I remember it was a quiet Christmas,” Tim says. He’s sitting on the love seat next to Aramis.

“You were just getting over pneumonia, Aramis,” Treville says. “Frice was over nearly every day it seems trying to help us help you. At that point, you were hardly speaking and I don’t think you always knew where or when you were. In those first two weeks, unless we forced you to go out to the ER or you just about scurried across the hall to the bathroom, you never left the den.”

Treville remembers standing in the kitchen with Ben and Tim sitting at the breakfast bar eating. It wasn’t their normal Christmas breakfast, but the kids didn’t complain. He and Sarah were on the far side, half pretending to be busy as they talk.

“We can’t leave him in there the whole day,” Sarah says.

“He jumps at everything, Sarah. The slightest noise could set him off. Not to mention he’s afraid of everything, everyone.”

“He’s fine with you and Ben, though.”

“In the den, in his safe place,” Treville says.

“What if we open presents in there then?”

“That might make it worse.”

“He’s not spending Christmas alone.” Sarah is adamant. “Even if it’s you and Ben in there and me and Tim out here. He’s not going to be alone.”

“He may not even know that it’s Christmas.”

“Jean, I can’t believe you said that.” She smacks his arm. “I don’t care if he doesn’t know. I know, we know. He needs to be around people, not isolated in there.”

“I’m sorry.” Treville sighs. “You’re right. I just don’t want to ruin today for the kids or set him off.”

“They need to get used to him and he needs to start to be around us. If he’s going to stay here until he’s back on his feet, then he needs to be a part of our family even though it’s going to be difficult for him.”

“I know. I’ll go take him his breakfast.” Treville takes the tea, small bowl of oatmeal, cut-up fruit, and hard-boiled egg into the den. It’s a small breakfast and designed to be eaten easily. It’s also light. The combination of pneumonia and lack of a proper meal for weeks means that Aramis’ stomach is sensitive to food. They give him bland food in several small meals scattered throughout the day.

When he enters, Aramis is in the middle of a coughing fit. He sets the food down and picks up an inhaler that Frice prescribed for Aramis to help with his breathing. He hands it off to Aramis, watching as the man does his best to use it.

Once Aramis has his breathing under better control, the coughing mostly finished, he takes the inhaler and sets the tray on the end table next to Aramis. He leaves Aramis to eat, going back to the kitchen to sit down with the boy and eat some of his own breakfast. Sarah is there, too.

When they’re done, Treville goes back to the den to get Aramis’ plate. It’s half eaten and is better than it has been.

“Do you know that today’s Christmas,” Treville asks, holding the tray as he stands near the door.

Aramis looks up at him from the armchair and shakes his head.

“We’d like you to join us.”

Aramis’ eyes go wide as he freezes at the thought.

“We thought about bringing the gifts in here and unwrapping them,” Treville says. Aramis hasn’t moved or changed positions. Instead, he watches and listens. “Do you think you’ll be okay with that?”

Aramis shrugs his shoulders.

“Aramis,” Treville begins, taking a few steps closer, keeping his voice calm, “I need you to tell me if you’re okay with it. If not, then it’ll just be me and Ben in here.”

Aramis is quiet for a long moment. “It’s okay,” he says quietly, voice rough.

“You sure?”

Aramis nods his head.

“Okay. I’ll get the boys to start bringing things in. They’ll put things on the coffee table.”

Aramis watches the moving process intently. Treville notices that he doesn’t once take his eyes off the growing pile or them and he hopes that this isn’t too much after all. Once the process is done, they file into the room feeling slightly awkward, except for Ben. He easily takes a seat on the far end of the couch, close to Aramis. Sarah takes the seat next to him and then Tim next. The older boy is still hesitant around Aramis. Treville sits on the floor near the coffee table.

“Jean, why don’t you find a few presents for the boys to unwrap,” Sarah says. “And boys, please don’t just rip the paper off. I don’t want to be chasing shreds of paper around for months like I was last year.”

“Yes, mom,” they both answer as Treville hands each a present. They both start off slowly, worried about making too much noise but a few presents in and their hesitation is forgotten.

“I need to find one in here,” Ben says, hopping off the couch and starting to search through the pile.

“What’re you looking for, Ben,” Treville asks.

“There’s a present in here that I need to find.”

“We’ll get to it. Just sit back down and I’ll hand you another.”

“It’s not for me. It’s for Aramis. He can’t sit there watching while we open things. I got him something. I just have to find it.”

Treville looks to Sarah.

“A few days ago while you were at work. Ben insisted on getting him something so we went online,” she explains.

“Here it is.” Ben holds the medium sized box up as best he can in triumph. Treville can see that Ben himself wrapped it, but even with the holes, there’s no hint about the contents as the box is brown.

“This is yours, Aramis.” Ben holds the box out to Aramis. He stands a couple feet away from Aramis. The hands that take box are shaky and slow. Ben stands, waiting for Aramis to open it but the quiet man simply sits there with the box in hand.

“Come back here, Ben, and open another present,” Treville says. When Ben doesn’t move, he adds, “Come help me hand out presents and let Aramis see what you got him without hovering.”

Ben looks at his dad and then at Aramis, who’s still just holding the box. Then he goes to his dad but he still looks at Aramis.

“Here, Ben, why don’t you hand this one to your mom.” Treville hands Ben a small present. Ben takes it, handing it off and taking his eyes off of Aramis for just the length of time it takes to pass the gift off. Aramis still doesn’t make a move. “Here, Ben. Give Tim this one and then I have one for you to unwrap.”

Ben hands a present to Tim and returns to his dad.

“Why won’t he unwrap it, dad,” Ben asks.

“Give him time, Ben. You know how he’s very much still shy. Get busy unwrapping your own and he’ll start unwrapping your gift.” Treville keeps his voice calm and encouraging. He hands Ben a gift to unwrap and pulls out more to help keep the boy distracted. It helps some. As Ben starts into a second present, Treville hears a very slow pulling of tape off of the wrap. He’s seen Aramis unwrap gifts before and never has he been so careful.

By the time Aramis has the one gift unwrapped, the four of them are nearly done. It’s just Treville and Sarah with a couple gifts left. When Aramis opens the box and goes to pull out the contents, Ben jumps up and Treville just catches him in time so he doesn’t get too close again. Still, it’s enough that Aramis freezes, hands dropping the box so that it tumbles to the ground.

“Tim, Ben, could you two go get the recycling bin and bring it in here,” Sarah asks.

“But…” Ben starts.

“Ben, go help your brother with the bin. He can’t carry it in on his own. And try not to make too much noise.”

“Okay.” Ben gets up and follows his brother out. Once they’re gone, Treville moves the box aside and goes to Aramis.

“Hey, ‘Mis, you still with us?” When there’s no answer, he tries again. “Where are you, Aramis?”

“Ch… Chica…go,” Aramis answers, breath hitching slightly.

“More specific than that.”

“Y… your home. Den.” He coughs lightly.

“Good. Do you remember the day?”

“Ch…christmas?”

“Yeah. We’ve been in here unwrapping presents.”

“Ben,” Aramis says suddenly.

“Yes, he has a gift for you. Do you want to finish unwrapping it or would you like me to? You just need to pull it out of the box.”

“I… I can.” Aramis reaches slowly for the box, pulling it upright. He moves to open the flaps again and reach in, but pauses. Treville hears his breathing pick up and he gently pulls the box from Aramis. He then pulls the gift out, a tan colored teddy bear dressed in a blue cape, with a belt and sword at its waist and a flamboyant hat decorated with a single feather on its head.

“Aramis, here. It’s a teddy bear.” Treville holds the stuffed animal out, hoping that Aramis will take it before Ben and Tim return. The young man is hesitant at first but does reach out to grab it, pulling it towards him and leaning back in the armchair.

“You got it,” Ben says, dropping his part of the bin to run in. The bin hits with a loud clank and Aramis drops the toy, breath quickening. Treville sees him go into the flashback and quickly moves to him. Meanwhile, Sarah ushers the children out so Aramis can have space. She picks up a few of their new toys as she goes.

Treville urges Aramis down to sit on the floor where it’s easier to comfort him and sits next to him. He is sure to wedge the man in between him and the armchair, using his presence to try to settle him down. He keeps speaking to Aramis, telling him where he is, when it is, anything to try to bring him back so he might still be able to enjoy some of the holiday. He’d hoped that Aramis might be up to letting Ben keep him company later but as the day wears on and Aramis is in and out of flashbacks and panic attacks, it seems less likely.

When night falls, Aramis goes silent. Treville is exhausted and stiff. He’s barely left Aramis’ side all day.

“C…Captain?” Aramis’ voice is weak and tired.

“Yes, Aramis. I’m right here. You doing better now?”

“I’m tired of this. Why do I have to do this, Captain?”

Treville sighs. “I don’t know, Aramis. But I know you can.”

“I’m tired though. I just want to curl up somewhere and be done with it all.” He coughs, which turns into a few more and Treville can hear the wheezing begin. He hands Aramis his inhaler to use, waiting to speak again until he’s done with it.

“You tried that and you wound up here. Now, why don’t you get some sleep? Let’s get you up on the couch.” Treville pulls Aramis to his feet. Aramis doesn’t fight him, moving blindly behind him as Treville pushes away the scraps of wrapping paper that still litter the ground. They’ll clean up tomorrow when Aramis is in a better mindset. Treville guides Aramis to lie down on the couch. He settles on his side and Treville pulls a few blankets to lay over him.

“Why can’t I just give up?” Aramis’ voice is despondent and wet.

“Is that what you really want?” Treville sits on the edge of the couch, running a hand through Aramis’ short hair. Cutting it had been both all too easy and a nightmare. He doesn’t look right with such short hair.

“I don’t know. I’m tired and it all seems too much to deal with.”

“You’ve had a hard day. After some sleep, you may find it all a little easier.”

“It’s not just today.” Aramis turns his head away, burying it in the pillow.

“Aramis. René, nothing that is worth it happens overnight. Recovering is going to take time.”

“What’s the use? I can’t do anything.”

“You can apply for the Musketeers. You’d be a great fit.”

“I… I don’t know.”

“Leave it for now. First, you’re doing this for yourself and no one else because you’re worth it. You are enough reason for you to recover.”

“I…”

“I know what you’re going to say but it’s not true. Right now, get some sleep. I’ll be here.”

“No.”

“Yes. Now go to sleep.”

Before Treville sits back, he picks up the teddy bear that Ben got for Aramis. It had largely been tossed aside during the day, but he thinks that right now it might help Aramis.

“Here, ‘Mis.” He gently sets the teddy bear near Aramis’ chest. For a while, the man is quiet and still, leading Treville to think that he’s fallen asleep. Then he mutters and reaches an arm out to pull the teddy bear tight to his chest.

“Fidget,” he says breathlessly, relaxing considerably as he holds on to the stuffed animal.

“So that’s how it got that name,” Athos asks.

“Why Fidget,” d’Artagnan asks.

“I don’t know.” Aramis shrugs his shoulders. “But I am grateful for that teddy bear. Thank you, Ben. It’s helped me a lot.”

“You’re welcome, ‘Mis,” Ben says.

“Was it really that bad then,” d’Artagnan asks.

“It was,” Aramis says. “And large parts of it are still giant black spots. But I know I have all of you to thank for my recovery. You all stuck with me and kept encouraging me to keep going. It’s been a long, hard five years but I’m glad I didn’t give up.”

“We’re glad you didn’t either,” Treville says. The others add on their similar sentiments.

“Does anyone need more snacks,” Aramis asks, rising in anticipation of requests.

“No, no. We’re good,” Porthos says. “Sit down and let’s get started on this puzzle. Athos, you mind getting the movies going?”

Athos gets the first of the movies started, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, while Porthos opens the puzzle box. He dumps out the pieces on the coffee table. Between them all, they’ll make good progress on it this evening. The size, a standard 1000 piece puzzle, is a bit difficult for Meg, but she’s been practicing a lot this year, working with the others on more challenging puzzles. Just a few months ago when they did a similar jigsaw puzzle, she even put together a handful of pieces herself.

It’s a nice evening. A perfect end to Christmas and a perfect way to celebrate the anniversary of Aramis’ arrival on Treville’s doorstep. They work late into the night. Meg falls asleep on d’Artagnan’s lap and Ben is dozing on Aramis’. Tim himself isn’t far behind. Sarah disappears at one point, beckoning Treville to come with her. The two come back with pillows, blankets and sleeping bags. With the others’ help, they push the coffee table aside and make enough room to create a bed on the floor for all of them.

Before long, the adults, children, and dogs are snuggled on the floor, sharing pillows and blankets. And Aramis drops off, he thinks back to laying on the couch that Christmas five years ago, snuggling Fidget and feeling some real warmth for the first time in months. He feels that same warmth again but it’s far from being a foreign feeling this time around.


	24. Families of Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Athos and Porthos find out that Aramis is ready to make a big step in his recovery, they're ready to help. Unfortunately, his past does come in to rear it's ugly head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story deals with flashbacks and panic attacks. The course of the story might be unsettling to some for the content. I wanted to write a nice happy story to end the month, but that story fought me too much so this one was born. It does have a positive ending, though, I think.

The closer they get to the cemetery, the more Porthos thinks this is a really bad idea. He understands the logic given by almost everyone: Lemay, Athos, Sarah, and the Captain. He knows that this is important, but Aramis hasn’t spoken in the last day and didn’t sleep at all last night in the hotel, despite the anxiety medicine Lemay prescribed, their presence, and his normal calming techniques. And the days leading up to today, he’d gotten progressively less sleep.

Seeing him in the backseat, pulled away from Athos, huddled against the window, eyes distant, Porthos wants to turn the car around and head back home. But this was Aramis’ choice. Lemay presented it as an important step in his recovery and something that he should consider doing at some point. A few weeks ago, Aramis approached them hesitantly to let them know that he was going to be making a trip to Virginia the first week of November. At the same time, he and Athos had said they would be coming. They knew his plans, not because Lemay had told them but because there was only one reason for Aramis to go to Virginia. After some arguing, Aramis gave in and they’d seen his mood go down the closer they got to the trip.

Visiting Arlington is not the only part of the trip they have planned. They have the weekend plus a few days. Between them, they had no vacation or personal days left. It had all been used to care for Aramis over the past year. Aramis, being on leave, didn’t have to worry about time. But for Athos and Porthos, the situation was a bit difficult. Treville too was out of days and there was little leeway he could give them. Fortunately, there were some in the task force who donated enough days for their trip.

While the cemetery isn’t their only purpose, it is where they’ve decided to visit first. Aramis wouldn’t be able to enjoy anything else they’d planned, planning which they’d tried to include him on, but he didn’t seem to care much. This is the reason they’ve driven straight from the interstate to the cemetery, bypassing their hotel. They can check in late, anyway.

When they park, Porthos and Athos wait for Aramis to make a move. Minutes pass before anything happens.

“I can’t do this,” Aramis says quietly, voice thick.

“I happen to disagree with that,” Athos says. It’s been hard for him not to comfort Aramis during the second part of their trip, but he knew from the moment Aramis leaned up against the car window, the younger man needed time alone. “But, we can go to the hotel, if you want. You don’t have to do this.”

“Don’t I? Lemay…”

“I know what Lemay said and you know that he left this up to you, when you feel ready and no one can tell you when you are.”

Aramis nods his head lightly, looking down at his hands in his lap playing with a stray thread on his jacket. “I need to but I can’t.”

“You’re not alone. We’re here with you.”

“We’ll walk with you as far as you need,” Porthos says. He’s turned around to be able to look better at the backseat.

“But…,” Aramis begins.

“You are our family, Aramis,” Porthos says. “We will go to the ends of the earth for you.”

“But…”

“And it doesn’t matter how you feel. You could always see us as friends, you are our brother in our eyes and we’ll do whatever we can for you,” Athos says.

Aramis is silent for a few more moments. Then he reaches for the door and steps out into the chilly November air. Athos and Porthos follow without thought.

“You don’t have to,” Aramis says as they begin to walk with him towards the lines of white headstones. He stops and so do they.

“Yes, we do,” Porthos says. “We’re family.”

“And even if we weren’t, we want to,” Athos adds.

“Thanks.” Aramis looks at them both, the gratitude clear in his eyes.

“Lead us to where you need to go,” Porthos says. “Stop when you need.

“Remember that you can always call on us but we’re going to let you have your time,” Athos says. Aramis nods again and continues walking. They hear his attempts to steady his breathing as they keep walking. It’s a slow, steady pace. Athos gazes at the names and dates on the headstones as they walk past the rows. He sees so many who are far too young, their neatly lined up headstones belying the chaos of the battles they died in. Aramis could have easily been in one of these graves, he thinks. Not from the massacre, after then he would’ve been barred from Arlington. But the massacre hadn’t been Aramis’ first glimpse, experience of battle. By far the massacre featured most in his flashbacks, but Athos picked up on other moments of terror in the young man’s life, moments of battle that he just escaped with his life intact.

Aramis stops suddenly. “This is one of them.”

Athos and Porthos wait no more than a foot away though it feels like miles for them. Some months ago, Aramis revealed to them that he’d never been to the grave sites of his teammates killed in the massacre. At first, he hadn’t been told where they were buried and hadn’t the mindset to find them himself. Then a week ago, as they made their plans, he presented them with a list of four names. Four of the six SEALs killed had been buried in Arlington.

How long they spend at each, none of them keep track of. Aramis doesn’t speak and they don’t ask him to, simply standing with him as they move from grave to grave. They come to the fourth grave as the sun is setting.

“You,” someone shouts angrily. “You coward, you bastard. You get away from him.” It’s a woman, around their age and she is closing in fast on them. She continues her tirade all the way. Inches from them two things become clear. Aramis is her target and she is going to hit him. Porthos sees her fist raised but before he or Athos can move, can do more than shout at Aramis to look out, she strikes him, solidly on the side of his face. Unprepared and emotionally exhausted, Aramis falls back, just missing the headstone of his teammate.

“You,” the woman shouts again, moving to launch her self on the prone man. “You have the gall to come back here after what you did.”

Porthos reaches out to grab her, pulling her back gently, but firmly. “Hey, stop it. Now.” Athos goes to Aramis, who hasn’t made a single noise. One hand is on the spot on his cheek where he was hit. His eyes are distant and breathing strangely calm. Experience tells Athos what to do.

“I’m here, ‘Mis. We’re here.” Athos kneels next to him, hesitant to touch Aramis. “Tell me where you are, “Mis. Start with what you can see.” It’s a routine by this point.

There’s silence, then voice low, Aramis starts speaking. “Clouds, the sky.” Aramis doesn’t move his gaze from the sky.

“Good. Now, what can you feel with your hands?” Aramis keeps the one hand on his face, while the other reaches out slowly, lightly.

“Grass. It’s cold.”

Athos continues taking Aramis through his grounding steps. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Porthos dealing with the woman, but it doesn’t concern him. His efforts to calm Aramis are working.

“You back with us,” Athos asks when he sees the distant look nearly gone.

“Yeah.” Aramis nods. He moves to sit up, but his arms give out. Athos moves to prop him up before he falls back. Despite being more with it, slight tremors run the length of Aramis’ body and Athos feels him trying to maintain his breathing. There is a chill that is starting to set into him. He’s not done with this but he’s not going any further, yet.

“You think you can stand?” Athos wants to get him off the ground.

“Maybe.” His voice is low and shaky.

“You can lean against me. You’re going to get a cold sitting on the cold ground.”

“It doesn’t work that way.”

“Let’s get you to your feet regardless.”

When he’s standing, Aramis is happy to have Athos supporting him. His energy is low from a lack of sleep and food over the last week, his mind and stomach in turmoil at the thought of coming here. Then he sees the woman standing in front of him, feet away and still held back by Porthos. She’s angry still but not yelling at him. He knows her.

“How are you, ‘Mis,’ Porthos asks.

“Still here,” Aramis answers breathlessly.

“You shouldn’t be, you coward,” the woman yells.

“Hey, now. We talked about this,” Porthos says. “You don’t get to call my brother that. He’s a braver man than anyone I know.”

“He’s a coward and he knows it.”

“Amy Richards, isn’t it,” Aramis says.

“You remember him. The man you got killed,” Amy says.

“He didn’t get him killed,” Porthos says.

“I know what happened. I saw the reports. He led them all into battle, got them all killed.”

“It’s been overturned. The Navy changed their verdict and cleared his name.”

“He got him killed. Should’ve died yourself, coward.”

“Is there a problem here,” a man in uniform, a soldier, asks. He walks up to them until he’s standing just a few feet away.

“Yes, we came here so my brother here could visit his friends’ graves and she’s come up and upset him,” Porthos explains. “He has PTSD and doesn’t react well to shouting and the like. We just barely kept him from a full-blown flashback.”

“It’s not like that. See, this is the man who got my husband killed. He’s been hiding away like a coward, too afraid to come out because of what he’s done,” Amy says, accusation clear in her voice.

“You hit him.”

“He deserved it and more.”

“I don’t care who started it,” the soldier says. “I’m going to ask all of you to leave. The cemetery requires silence and respect. If you can’t abide by that, then you’ll have to leave.”

“Why should I leave, he’s the coward. He doesn’t belong here.”

“No, we’ll leave,” Aramis finally says. “Please, Amy, take your time here with Cody. He was a good man and a great father.”

“Are you sure, ‘Mis,” Athos asks.

“Let’s go. I’m ready to go, Athos.” Aramis can’t keep the pleading out of his voice.

“If you’re sure, then we will but not because she’s driving you out.”

“I’m sure. I’m ready to go.”

Porthos lets go of Amy. He doesn’t believe Aramis, but he can see that he’s not in a state to argue. “You’re wrong about what’s happened,” Porthos tells Amy. “He’s a good man who was trying to do the right thing. I understand that you’ve had a rough time, but he has too. Let’s go ‘Mis.” Porthos walks to where Aramis and Athos stand.

“You sure you’re good to go,” Porthos asks.

“Please,” Aramis pleads.

“Alright, let’s go.”

They each support Aramis as he takes unsteady, slow steps. Porthos gives Athos a quick glance. It’s clear that Aramis isn’t over his flashback yet.

“How about we go to the hotel,” Athos says. “We can get checked in and decide what we want to do next.”

Aramis nods his head. They’re nearly at the car when they hear a voice behind them.

“Wait, wait!” They turn quickly to see that it’s a teenage girl running towards them. Athos and Porthos move in front of Aramis. “Are you René? Were you my dad’s friend?”

“Who are you,” Porthos asks. The girl is in her early teens.

“I’m April, Cody’s daughter. My dad, he wrote me letters, talked about René a lot in them.”

“’Mis?” Athos looks back.

“René?” April steps closer causing Aramis to tense and Porthos and Athos to move in closer. “Do you remember me? We met at a couple family picnics.”

“Just stay there.” Porthos puts a hand out. “Now, just like I’ve told your mom. Aramis here was cleared of all charges. He was just trying to do what was right, what needed to be done. He feels guilty enough without your family adding on to it.”

“I know. I read about it in the news. I’m happy for you, René. After everything dad told me about you, I couldn’t believe that you’d lead anyone into anything so dangerous without good reason.”

“Why?” Aramis’ voice is quiet.

“What?”

“Why? How did you find out?” It’s an effort to speak louder.

“I was trying to find you, René.” She shrugs her shoulders.

“Why?”

“I…” April looks down, swallows, then much more shyly says, “I wanted to talk with you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You are the last person to see my dad alive. I wanted to find out what happened. Mom won’t tell me what happened. She’s just angry or sad all the time. And none of his other friends will tell me. I’m just a little kid to them but you were never like that with me.”

As far as Aramis can recall right now, their meetings were brief. She was often busy going off to play with some other kids instead of wanting to hang out with some adults talking about serious stuff, like their next deployment. What little he did interact with her, he spoke with her just like he did with other children, with respect because even children deserve respect, not to be pushed aside.

“Wh… what do… you want to … know?” Aramis’ mind is on edge still and with the thought of having to recall back to that night, he feels himself tipping over. Then, there’s a steadying hand on his back, rubbing gentle circles. Athos. It’s always Athos. For now, it’s enough to keep him here.

“This really isn’t the best time,” Porthos says.

“It’s fine,” Aramis says.

“No, it’s not a good time. You’re exhausted.”

When he legs quake beneath him, Aramis is forced to concede the point. He swallows heavily before speaking, “It, his death, he wasn’t alone. I… I had a hold of him until he drew his last breath. He said he loved you very much. His last thoughts were of you, April.”

April’s eyes tear up, slowly falling down her cheeks.

“There… um… there was a letter he wrote for you,” Aramis says, forcing himself to keep his eyes on April.

“Because of the mission?”

“No. When we got there, we both wrote letters to our family. We kept them in our trunks, so if something happened…” Porthos and Athos look at each other, thinking of the letters Aramis wrote, what he told his family.

“Where is it?” April takes an eager step forward and this time, Porthos and Athos aren’t on edge.

“It’s with his stuff. I don’t have it. We always left them in our trunks because we knew they would be sent back.”

“Mom must have it. I told her I wanted to get in touch with you last year and she grounded me for a month. I’m sorry about her.”

“Don’t apologize for other people’s actions,” Aramis says.

“Dad always said that.”

“Your dad was one of the few good men I knew. He didn’t deserve to die out there.”

“And you don’t deserve what’s happened to you either.”

“That’s what I’m told.” Aramis leans against the car, feeling weakness overtake his body once more.

“It’s true, ‘Mis,” Porthos says. “And you know that we’re going to keep reminding you of it until you believe it.”

Aramis nods tiredly.

“I should go. Mom’s going to be angry enough as it is,” April says.

“Tell her it was my fault,” Aramis says.

“No,” April says quickly. “Enough has been blamed on you. I stopped you. I’ll take the blame. You know well enough what happens when the wrong person takes the blame.”

“You shouldn’t be in trouble because of me.”

“And I stopped you because I wanted to know more. I’d like to talk with you more about dad. Nobody will and I miss him.” She tries to hold back the tears.

“Your mom will have nothing of it,” Aramis says. “And,” he begins after a pause, “as much as I’d love to talk with you about your dad, I’m not in the best of mental states right now. I don’t know when I will be.”

“Are you okay with waiting,” Athos asks April.

“Yes, of course. I mean, I want to know more, but I do understand. Dad said you are a good man, René. That you always deserved better than you got at times. He’d hate it if I pushed you before you were ready.”

“Good. Then, I suggest meeting up again in about five years’ time. You’ll be old enough then, April, to make decisions for yourself and Aramis, you’ll be in the right mindset to talk about her dad.”

“That’s… that’s a good idea, Athos. Thanks. Are you okay with that, April,” Aramis asks, looking at her again.

“Yes. Where should we meet?”

“How about at your father’s grave? I’ll bring a picnic lunch and you can ask me all the questions you want and I’ll do my best to answer.”

“Sounds good. I wish you the best, René. And, as lame as I know it is, I’m really sorry for what’s happened. You didn’t deserve it. I know what you’re going to say but listen to your brothers. You’re a fortunate man. It’s not often you get such caring brothers as you have.”

“I know.” Aramis nods his head tiredly. The motion sets him off balance. Porthos quickly moves to catch him, mostly carrying him to get him in the backseat and buckled in.

“April,” Athos says as the young teenager is turning to walk away. She pauses and turns back towards him. He takes a couple steps to close the gap. “Aramis, René as you call him, lives with my friend and I. We’re Musketeers. If your mom gives you too much trouble, if it starts to get bad and you’re not comfortable getting in touch with the police here, you have friends with the Musketeers. One call and we’ll come.”

“You don’t know me.”

“It’s clear that Aramis cares about you. You’re special to him and there’s not a lot of people left like that in his life. I won’t have anything happen to someone who’s special to him. And more than that, I won’t stand by while a child is abused.”

“It’s nothing like that. Mom gets angry and grounds me but that’s it.”

“I can start like that and become worse. You have friends with the Musketeers, though.”

“Musketeers? I’ve heard about them.”

“Yes, we’ve had a couple big cases that put us in the national headlines.”

“Is Aramis one, too?”

“Once he recovers, he will be. He’s making a lot of progress, but we don’t know when he’ll come back.” Athos pauses. “I need to get going, get him back to the hotel so he can rest after today. Anytime, though. A single call to Athos, Porthos, or Aramis and we’ll come.”

“Thank you. I don’t think it’ll come to that, but thank you for your concern and please, look after him for me. He deserves to be taken care of.”

As April walks back through the cemetery, Athos looks into the backseat of the car where Porthos is sitting with Aramis. The younger man is leaning against Porthos, head buried in his shoulder, his own shoulders shaking. It’s going to be a long evening and even longer night, but Athos doesn’t regret anything. Aramis has fit in perfectly with their small family and after less than a year, Athos can’t imagine anything different, not even with the mental illnesses. They are just another part of their brother. It makes life more challenging but never impossible.

And as hard of a time they have with the illnesses, he knows that Aramis has it even worse, much worse. The young man is braver than anyone he knows, to decide to keep fighting when he knows he was ready to give up at so many points. He’s proud of Aramis and wishes that Aramis could find that same pride in himself. But for now, he thinks, sighing, it’s time to get Aramis to the hotel and work on getting him through the rest of the day. He hates seeing Aramis struggle and even more hates that they are largely helpless.

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone wants the prompts, let me know. I can post them on my Tumblr.


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